In Thunder, Lightning, or Rain
by Spastic Bookworm
Summary: Years after Journeys End forever has been called into question, turning Rose and her family's life upside down. But an old friend wants to help: Bad Wolf is coming out to play. Post s.4 WIP
1. Prologue

_Like it, hate it? Let me know._

_Warning: Spoilers are afoot! If you haven't seen Journeys End, you shouldn't be reading this. _

_Very established 10.5/Rose (Though it's not really 'on-screen' much after this... you'll get it ^-^)  
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_Disclaimer for the whole she-bang: It all belongs to the BBC and RTD. I only own M&C (and maybe some others, but their not important…) _

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**In Thunder, Lightning, or Rain  
Prologue**

The sprinklers are going in the back yard, even though it looks like it may rain. I know they'll be going in the front too. They're on a timer, and I just haven't gotten around to learning to shut'em off prematurely.

I sacked the gardener ages ago, the housekeeper too. Didn't want to, mind. But it had to be done, there would have been questions. I tidy up and leave the lawn to the timer, hire-out when it needs cutting.

I run everything now, the mansion and Vitex and Torchwood.

It's been 25 years since we buried Mum, almost 24 since Pete -Dad- decided he couldn't live without her and passed in his sleep.

Tony, my sweet little brother, celebrated his 59th birthday not long ago. He's retiring next year, moving to Maui or someplace hot he says. I'll miss him.

My own children -we had twins, the Doctor and I- they'll turn 54 in a few months. Chris and Mickey. Different as night and day but thick as thieves, they were. We each chose one name together, but the Doctor surprised me when he chose Mickey.

(When we learned we were having twin boys he wanted to name them Fred and George. There is no Harry Potter in this universe, he said. It could be our family's little joke. Mum showed him good what she thought of him turning her grandchildren into little jokes.)

And the Doctor, he turned 88 yesterday. Or near enough, since even he didn't know how old that body was to start with.

He can't run around anymore, or fiddle with the telly to get us free movie channels. He gets winded just walking to the loo and he's got bad arthritis he takes medication for.

I glare at the world outside, my eyes still staring out the kitchen window. It's not fair.

The kettles shrill cry tears me from my musings and I shake my head, silently tell myself to get it together. That he's still with me and he's waiting for his tea.

I take a deep breath to steady my own hands before pouring a cuppa- milk and 2 imitation sugars -one for him and one for me- same as his cause he'll know if I get the real sugar. He knows he can't have the real stuff with his blood pressure so high.

I slowly make my way up the stairs to our room. He wouldn't let me move us downstairs, even if it would be easier for him. I've given up trying to change his mind.

"I brought you some tea. D'ya think you can sit up?" I smile as I come in and place the tray on the nightstand.

"Of course I can sit up," he says, and my heart lifts when he does just that. I hand him his and watch as, like always, he sighs when he tastes the sweet-n-low.

"Don't even bother beggin', you know you can't have real sugar." I take a sip of my own, to let him know he's not in it alone.

oOo

He starts falling asleep a few hours later when we're halfway into watching a special on the Lusitania, this world's Titanic.

I help ease him back down. He insists he can do it himself, but I like helping him.

My hand brushes his gray hair off his forehead and I kiss him gently. There's something in my heart, a hollow pang of anxiety that I do my best to cover over with another kiss. I know I'm going to lose him soon.

"I love you, Doctor." He smiles up at me, an echo of his youthful mad grin.

"My love. My beautiful Rose." Then he's asleep again, and I move to clean up our tea.

My reflection catches my attention as I'm turning to the door, tray in hand. I stare at it coldly, tears already building, and toss my still blonde hair over my shoulder.

My own 81st birthday is next month. And it's not _fair_.

oOo

Chris is just coming in from the store when I finish putting up the clean dishes. I can feel him standing in the doorway, watching me put the last tea cup in it's proper place.

"Mum," he says. I turn and smile, a little sadly. "Are you alright? Is it Dad?" His eyes get a little wide, but I shake my head.

"Your dad's fine; he's sleeping. We had some tea and watched a movie." Sometimes I feel like he's the parent. Always worried, always looking out for me, even when I tell him I can look after myself. He's even worse with his father.

"I felt…something. When I was at the check-out. Like my heart missed a beat." He seems to wait for me to explain.

"Where's your brother?" I ask instead. Chris sighs and puts the bag on the counter.

"He's up looking in on Dad." And right on que, Mickey comes walking into the kitchen and gives me a hug.

Mum used to say they were the perfect mix of the two of us. My eyes, the Doctors hair, my lips and ears. Mum'd say at least it was this Doctor and not the first otherwise the poor boys would pick up radio signals with their ears.

When they were little, the Doctor wanted to constantly dress them alike and play tricks on Tony and Mum. I usually went along with it, until they were old enough and could do it themselves; then I started putting my foot down and telling them it wasn't nice to do it all the time to their parents.

Now, looking at them sitting in my kitchen, all these years later, I want to ask them to do it again. Just once more, for their dad.

"You felt it too, didn't you, Mum?" Mickey asks me. I sit next to him and sigh. It's no use lying to these two.

"Yeah. Yeah I did." I look them both in the eyes, not sure if I'm thankful they have mine, or not. "I-"

"He doesn't have much time left, does he?" Ah, Mickey. You do take after your namesake. "It's alright, Mum, you can be straight with us."

The sobs I was trying so hard not to let out finally escape and that's all the answer they need. I cry into my children's shoulders and they cry into mine long after the sun sets.

oOo

I wake up two days later just knowing. I'm not sure how I do, but I'm not the only one. Chris and Mickey are sitting in the living room after I check on the Doctor and gently kiss him good morning, careful not to wake him.

"I thought you two were heading back to Cardiff this morning," I say to their pajama-clad selves and lack of luggage.

They both look up at me and I know then that they feel whatever it is too. I wonder if this is a Time Lord thing, cause surely Mum didn't know what was going to happen to dad back in 1987.

I swallow the lump in my throat and tell them I'm going to make some tea.

oOo

The Doctor wakes up after my second cuppa. I bring him his breakfast and the boys help him to the loo. Then we all sit together and watch telly.

Mickey tells him they're not leaving yet, they deserve a longer vacation.

I can't take my eyes away from my husband, picturing him as he was. Picturing him before he was 'born', before he regenerated, even. Remembering all the years we had together.

I excuse myself to get us more tea as the afternoon wears on. The boys and I share a look and they know to make this time alone with him count.

I make the tea on automatic. Not really concentrating on it at all; I should call Tony. But he's always up in Glasgow and wouldn't get here in time anyway. I'm crying again before the water's heated.

I let myself cry silently as I pour the water and add sugar. Real sugar. He should get the stuff he loves today.

It's when I'm at the foot of the stairs that I compose myself as best I can.

The boys are backing out of the door, saying they'll see what's keeping me. Chris turns first and I see the tears in his eyes. Mickey gives me a watery smile, tear tracks on each cheek.

"I think he knows," he tells me as I pass, and gently closes the door behind me.

He's still sitting up when I put the tray down.

"Real sugar this time, as a treat." I hold the cup out to him, amazed my hands aren't shaking, cause the rest of me seems to be.

He takes a sip, "Ahh, brilliant." He takes another one, then another and another.

"Slow down, will ya?" I almost laugh. He smiles and tries to shrug, but I can tell he's getting weaker. I take the cup back and set it on the tray; I help him lay back down.

I sit next to him on the bed, and his hand reaches out for mine. They still fit together perfectly.

"My Rose," he takes a deep breath and blinks slowly.

"My Doctor," I say back and I'm crying again. He looks up at me, and for a second I see him vibrant and beautiful. My new new Doctor as he was laying in the apple grass.

"Forever, right?" His grip tries to tighten, but he's so weak now. I can only nod, not trusting my voice. _But it's not forever! I'm still here! _I want to scream, but I just tighten my own grip. "Street corner, 2:00 AM. The life I could never have- until I met you. My wife, my love."

"The Doctor and Rose," I say, my voice breaking.

"The stuff of legend." He smiles, his eyes closing. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I choke out. His hand slackens and I slide to the floor, kneeling over him. "No! No, don't leave me! Doctor…" My head falls to his still chest, tears spilling unchecked, sobs racking my body. I'm vaguely aware of Chris and Mickey hurrying in, but I can't hear anything.

Our children will be 54 in 2 months, and my 81st birthday is in 4 weeks.

They don't look older then their early 20's.

And neither do I.

And _it's. Not. Fair._

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Title taken from MacBeth_.  
'When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?' First Witch- MacBeth, act 1 scene 1._

Reviews are love, so is Puffs Plus with lotion. *Hands out tissues*


	2. Chapter One

No more 1st person until the end now. Enjoy some Time Lord and Captain destruction ^-^

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**Chapter One  
Interlude: The Doctor and Jack**

The vaguely humanoid shaped aliens leveled their laser guns across the room. "Surrender, Doctor," the self-assigned leader boomed loudly.

"Isn't that what the Wicked With said? No wait, that was 'Surrender, Dorothy'. Which makes more sense, because her name was Dorothy, not Doctor. Although they are quite close-"

The leader raised his laser gun higher and almost sighed. Heroes these days, he speculated, were getting awfully mouthy. "Surrender, Doctor. This is your final warning." He said, cutting off whatever the Doctor was going to say next.

"Well, I suppose I could surrender, yeah. Or, I could just do this!" The Doctor dropped to the floor as a bluish projectile sailed over his head and landed at the feet of his 'hosts'.

"You think a blue sphere will scare us? We are the-" the blue sphere erupted into a heavy smoke, successfully obscuring the Doctor from his view.

Wild laser fire ricocheted off the walls and furniture; The Doctor stayed low and made his way to the door.

"Brilliant, Jack! Where'd you learn to make a smoke bomb?"

"Oh, just something I learned in my misguided youth," Jack replied, grinning as they sprinted down the hallway.

"Was that before or after you learned to steal spaceships?"

"Way before, Doc. Baby steps and all that. Had to learn to cause the destruction before I could run away from it."

They ran past the startled servants, down the stairs, made from bones of various species, and out the front door.

"And is running away from destruction something you do often, Captain?"

"Only when it's the destruction you caused," Jack said, tossing him a wicked grin; the Doctor rolled his eyes. "You know, looking back, those stairs and the sacrificial alter should have tipped us off when they invited us for dinner."

"But that hummus was fantastic," the Doctor said, as if that made it all worthwhile.

Up ahead the TARDIS loomed, silent and imposing, as the two red suns sank below the opposite horizons.

"Mm. Wonder what it was made of…" Jack trailed off and scrunched his face.

The Doctor shook his head, "best not to speculate, really."

oOo

Jack was lost. It didn't happen that often anymore, but when it did it usually meant the TARDIS was up to something. He could have sworn the hot tub was down the first corridor, up the stairs, a right at the odd green washer that always had something swirling in it- Jack was sure it wasn't clothes- and finally a left at the bathroom decorated entirely with yellow rubber ducks.

But Jack had long since turned past the odd green washer and had yet to see the bathroom. Which meant he was lost, because the bathroom door itself had a large yellow duck painted on it, making it was impossible to miss.

He knew for a fact he could wander for days in the TARDIS and never once come across the same rooms or corridors.

It was something he and Rose had done as a vacation.

Or a mutiny, even, when the Doctor promised an evil-megalomaniac-bent-on-universal-domination free afternoon for the 7th time. Each time they'd end up running into trouble, or being the cause of it unwittingly because the Doctor's directional skills needed work. They wanted a rest.

That last time they'd had to leg it away from a torch-wielding mob straight out of a monster novel. The two, panting, decided then and there to go on strike.

They packed provisions in Rose's hiking bag she usually used for trips home, and set off in the corridors with no destination in mind. From time to time the Doctor would pop up and ask in an annoyed voiced if they were quite done. They'd always said no.

Now, taking another turn and hoping he'd at least find the odd green washer again, Jack laughed, remembering how Rose had gotten the Doctor to actually try and take them someplace peaceful.

Rose had cheekily told the Doctor to come back when he found a planet where she and Jack could get massages. Unless, she'd added, he'd like to offer to give them one himself? The Doctor had scowled, but Jack would swear he saw the alien flush a bit. He left then, muttering about 'stupid apes' and Jack and Rose walked on, laughing.

A day later, somewhere after they're 3rd pool and 8th garden, the Doctor had shown up and said they were heading to a Spa planet. But only, he'd said, for 5 hours. Or how ever long it took him to fix the problems with the TARDIS's water system.

Jack and Rose hadn't had any issues with the water during their sabbatical; Jack figured the Doctor had taken one too many cold showers, and the TARDIS had decided to cut him off.

But that was a long time ago now, and it was just him. He walked through an archway and stopped.

"Is there something you're trying to tell me?" Jack asked, looking in the general direction of where the ceiling should be, but where now a million stars twinkled instead.

The TARDIS gave no response, but he was used to that. "Fine, I'll just sit here until you deicide to play nice." With that, Jack sat on the ground to wait.

Five or so minutes of waiting later, Jack groaned and jumped up. "Oh, come on! If this is because I called you an old box, I'm sorry! I only said that so the wacko aliens inviting us to dinner- who, by the way, ended up trying to sacrifice the Doctor and breed me- wouldn't try to use or hurt you."

Nothing happened for a few quiet seconds, and Jack was just about to turn and try his way in the corridors again when a small rumble of thunder rolled overhead.

His head snapped up to the simulated night sky. Ominous clouds had gathered. He watched as lighting crackled across the expansive darkness, lighting up the black clouds to a deep purple. Thunder exploded, a deafening boom. Wind started whipping around him, rain pouring from above, but it didn't touch him. It seemed to stop a few feet above his head.

"What the…." he began as he watched the storm raging overhead grew even more intense. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the clouds were gone. In their place was a bright sunny day.

Jack shielded his eyes against the sudden light. In a matter of seconds, the sunny day turned dark, and more clouds rolled in, obscuring the bright sun as if it had never risen.

"Is this your idea of a movie date?" He tried to joke, but his attempt was only half hearted. A tornado had formed in the back right corner of the room, it's tip touching down to the point where the rain stopped.

It came to inches of where Jack stood before dissipating.

"Okay. That's enough of When Weather Goes Bad, the IMAX version." He backed up to the archway, wearily watching the sky. A hurricane started to blow in, gale force winds already advancing; Jack took that as his cue and ran out the archway and back into the maze of corridors. A sudden jarring caused him to stumble, but he was to glad to be out of there to criticize the Doctor's driving, or wonder where they were.

oOo

"Alright, old girl, where should we head next, hmm?" The Doctor flicked a few switches, turned a few dials, and sent them off into the vortex.

Jack had left him as soon as the TARDIS doors were shut. Claimed he needed time to relax.

That left the Doctor alone for the first time in days. He didn't like to be alone anymore. Well, he never liked being alone, but once upon a time he used to like a few hours peace to himself every once in a while.

Now, though, time to himself meant time with his thoughts, which meant time wondering if his counterpart and Rose were happy; what were they doing at this precise moment? How old were they now? Had they saved that Earth together yet? Did they have a _mortgage_?

…Did she ever think about this him? Did she miss him?

But he had Jack back with him now. That helped. In the way that having a constant reminder of what he lost, again, is helpful.

Was that how Rose felt? Having the human Doctor, her real Doctor's counterpart there with her? A reminder of what she once had?

Human-Doctor and Rose would surely be married by now. Maybe have kids even…

Is it possible to be jealous of yourself? He wondered. He knew that yes, it was possible. He'd been jealous of himself before.

The TARDIS hummed lightly, trying to offer him comfort. The Doctor absent-mindedly stroked the console.

Just how much time had passed for them?

Shaking himself from his thoughts, the Doctor glanced at the monitor and hoped Jack would be back soon. By his reckoning, it had been the better part of thirty minutes since the other man went off on his own.

"How about the year 9999? Take Jack to the New Year's festival in Barcelona. The city this time, not the planet."

He flicked the controls, dancing around the console with practiced ease. The last lever was flipped with a triumphant "Ha!"

The landing was, as always, bumpy. "Now to wait for Jack."

He was making his way to the monitor, just to make sure they had landed where he planned, when a sudden pain tore his hearts, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of lose.

He knew what just happened. He always knew he would feel it when it did. It was, after all, part of him.

His counterpart, the human Doctor living in Pete's World with Rose, had just died.

"Oh…. _Oh Rose_…" His anguished voice cracked. He clutched the console for support.

"Doctor, something-" Jack interpreted himself at the sight that greeted him as he ran into the consul room. He hurried over to his friend, cautiously reaching a hand out and letting it rest gently on the Doctor's back. "Doctor? What's wrong? What happened?"

The Doctor lifted his face, and Jack was stunned to see a single tear roll down his cheek. "He's gone, Jack. He died."

"Who, Doctor?" Jack, usually cool-headed and calm, was starting to get the teeniest bit freaked out. He'd never seen the Doctor cry.

The Doctor took a deep breath, letting it out with a tiny shudder. He fell back onto the Capitan's chair, head in his hands.

After a second Jack joined him. "Doctor?"

"I did." Jack drew in his eyebrows, a very small, confused smile gracing his features.

"You're right here, Doc. Still this same pretty boy face and body." To emphasize his point, Jack placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"No Jack," the Doctor's face left his hands and he turned towards his companion. "Remember the me that grew from my hand? The me that I left with Rose?"

Jack swallowed as it all fell into place. "He -you - died?"

"I felt it."

"And Rose?" The Doctor shook his head, shrugging the smallest bit.

"Still alive, I assume. No real way of knowing."

Jack stared at the Doctor, not really seeing him. Only one thought seemed to form completely in his mind. _I'm so sorry, Rose._

"Oh, Rose." He let his hand slip across the Doctor's shoulders and pulled the unresisting Time Lord into a hug.

"I'm not a pretty boy," the Doctor muttered, voice muffled by Jacks shoulder.

Jack gave a small snort of amusement, "Of course you are, Doc. Of course you are." He leaned his head on the one nestled in his shoulder and wished he could go back in time to when it was the three of them, and things were happier.

Which is a funny thing to wish for, when you're sitting in a time machine.

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_Can I just say how much I love writing Jack? _

_Reviews are love_


	3. Chapter Two

Some contradictions will become apparent. But its all par for the course when it comes to grief. We'll be picking up soon.

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**Chapter Two**

_The Tyler family regret to inform you of the passing of Doctor John David Tyler-Smith, on 23rd March 2068. Beloved father, husband, and friend, he will be sorely missed. Dr. Tyler-Smith will be cremated privately on 25th March 2068. A memorial ceremony will take place later that evening. Guests are asked to arrive after 9:00PM at the Tyler Family Cemetery, located Southeast of the Tyler Estate. _

oOo

Rose stood with her head held high. Each hand was clasped in one of her children's. To the casual observer it would appear to be a pair of brothers holding onto their sister. Only a select few knew the truth, and there were more than a select few present at the Tyler Family cemetery.

The Doctor would have been speechless at the turn out; a feat Rose knew was hard to come by. There were many people with whom he had won over in his life, even if hadn't been aware of it. Rose wished he could have known just how many people outside of his family loved him. Very few people knew his ego was only skin deep; he expected people to respect him as genius, not love him as a person.

She squeezed the hands holding hers, and briefly looked up at the mostly clear sky. Hundreds of tiny lights dotted the endless darkness, the moon just beginning to rise. A burial under the stars.

"It's just what he would have wanted," Mickey said, speaking low, emotion clogging his throat.

Rose smiled. "Rose would know what to do," she said under her breath, remembering the tales of his adventures without her, and repeating the words he had uttered to Martha.

_Oh, Doctor. But I really don't._

Chris let his hand slip from hers, and instead circled her shoulders. Leaning close, he said, "It's time."

Taking a deep breath, Rose moved forward and turned to face the gathered people.

"Thank you, all of you, for coming tonight. I don't really have anything planned to say. He wouldn't want me to go on and on about what a fantastic man he was. Or all the things he accomplished. And I don't know if there are even enough words to describe it, anyway. But he _was_ an amazing, fantastic, brilliant man, and he really did do so many great things…" She paused, swallowing the lump growing in her throat.

"If he was here… 'Rose,' he'd say, 'death is just the next big adventure.' So, Doctor, have a good adventure. Do that for us, have a _fantastic_ adventure." Briefly, a small, sad smile appeared on her face. It was fitting, she felt: his first goodbye to her was her last goodbye to him.

The moon rose, spilling silver light over her as she laid a kiss on the tombstone.

A silent gold-tinted tear slipped down her cheek and fell on the marble. No one, not ever Rose, noticed it's glowing quality.

Rose resumed her place between her twins, as, one by one, the mourners spoke their condolences to the family. Slowly the cemetery emptied, until finally only the family remained, staring at the shining marble tombstone.

"Rose?" Tony asked hesitantly, watching Mickey and Chris each take turns embracing her. He couldn't even begin to understand how hard it all was for his sister. Watching her husband get older and older, all the while she stayed the same… He took his turn hugging her, and knew she was stronger then maybe even she realized. A lesser person wouldn't have made it this far.

"I'm fine, Tony. Why don't you and Jess go see Miranda? I'll make some pancakes and eggs."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, having tasted his sister's cooking numerous times while growing up- and she shouldn't have to cook for them all anyway, least of all not right after her husbands memorial ceremony. Chris, however, beat him to objecting.

"How about Mickey and I make the food, Mum can make some coffee, and we'll meet you two in the kitchen in a bit?" He said, knowing that his mum would want some control over something. Coffee isn't something strenuous, but was still something she could occupy herself with.

Rose huffed in annoyance and looked imploringly to her other son. "My cookin's not that bad, is it Mick?"

"Dad used to tell us if we ate at least half our breakfast, he'd take us to that all day chippy on the way to school."

Chris laughed and nodded. "He did, Mum. Said he loved you more than anything, but you cooked like Gran after a bender." Mickey looped an arm around her, grinning.

"Made us swear never to tell that to Gran most of all. Slapped enough times by her, he said."

"Mum did always think she was a real Emeril after one," Rose agreed.

"Who ever he is," Tony said, rolling his eyes. As had become custom whenever someone made a reference to the parallel world. Confusion just served to bring on more headaches.

"And what do you mean, that all day chippy? Chips are not breakfast, Mickey Fredrick Tyler-Smith." Mickey winced at his full name; Rose still wasn't sure if she should be hurt or not by the knowledge her family didn't like her cooking.

"Aw, Mum," Chris said, adding his own arm. "Don't be hurt by it. Not everyone's a great cook. Uncle Tony can't even make toast."

Tony's indignant "Oi!" was simultaneously cut off by his wife's "Well, it's true dear," And Mickey's, "Even you can make that!"

"Alright, you boys can make the food," Rose said, sighing in mock defeat. "So long as you add chocolate chips to mine."

The twins looked at each other over their mum's head, matching grins spreading across their faces.

"Wouldn't dream of having them any other way." Mickey turned to his aunt and uncle, "you want chocolate in yours as well?"

Tony looked to his wife, habitually taking his que from her. Jessica tilted her head to the side, her long silvery braid falling behind her shoulder as she donned a serious expression as if to contemplate a most dangerous situation.

"I suppose it would be nice to have chocolate chip pancakes this late at night." Tony's grin was simply childish.

"Brilliant!" The twins chorused.

"We'll be in in a few minutes," Jessica said, eyes turning somber again.

"Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need. I want to get out of these clothes anyway," Rose said, suddenly reminded of where they were and why they were having breakfast so late at night in the first place.

Then she was suddenly furious with herself. The man she'd loved, almost from first sight, was dead and she was laughing! Disgust rose to replace the anger; she shouldn't be able to laugh at all. But there she was, chiding her fully grown sons for having chips for breakfast years ago, and making fun of her Mum's cooking.

_The Doctor would be so disappointed with me… _

She wiped a tear from her eye, and turned to watch her brother and sister-in-law walk off a little ways. Their daughter was buried just a few plots away.

Mickey took his place beside her and wound his arm around her back. "He always loved to laugh," he reminded her gently, and Rose felt a little bit better for going along with the banter.

"Come on, Mum," Chris said, his arm tightening around her shoulders.

"Yeah, let's go in. It's a bit of a walk to the house."

Arms wrapped around her, the twins steered Rose towards the gate.

She turned back once, as they hit the path, and stared at the tombstone.

_Maybe you wouldn't be disappointed in me, but I still am._

She let out a long breath and tried to look forward to the pancakes. Chris really did make quite good ones.

_John David Tyler-Smith  
'The Doctor'  
Born 20th March 1980 Died 23rd March 2068  
Beloved husband, father, and friend  
He travels amongst the stars once more._

oOo

"Do you remember the time Dad broke the toaster?" Asked Mickey from his place at the table.

"Was that the time he tried to turn it into a rocket launcher? Or the time he tried to make Mum breakfast in bed?" Chris reached for the syrup and tilted his head slightly to the side.

"The breakfast in bed, I think. He didn't really break it when he tried to turn it into a rocket launcher, did he?"

"Why was your father turning the toaster into a rocket launcher?" Jessica inquired, with a delicate raise of her eyebrow.

"Wanted to see if he could launch toast clear over the estate. Didn't make it, though. We were cleaning burnt toast off the roof for ages after that." That got a laugh as Mickey shuddered, remembering just how much work that really was.

The chuckles soon trailed off and Mickey and Chris both turned to look at the kitchen doorway worriedly, then at each other.

Silent communication between the twins was something Jess was used to, but it was still a tad unnerving to witness it. The boys -men- had such looks of hurt on their faces, it was as if they shared the grief of each other as well as their own.

Mickey finally shook his head ever so slightly, and broke the sudden stalemate by reaching for the apple juice.

"Mum said when she grew up it was orange juice that was the typical breakfast juice." Chris added, pushing his glass out for a refill; Rose had yet to come down and make the coffee.

"I don't think I'll ever understand just how she came to be here from a different universe."

"Are you kidding, Dear? After everything you've seen at Torchwood?" Tony said. He walked over to a vacant chair and started piling food onto his plate. Chris and Mickey, both in the process of fighting over whose napkin was whose, froze.

Matching looks of pain crossed their faces and they stood.

"Rose isn't doing so well, boys." But the twins were already out the door before their uncle could finish his sentence. Their aunt watched them go.

"Those three share such a strong bond. I wonder how they cope…."

oOo

"Mum?" Mickey pushed the door to the library open, knowing that was where they'd find Rose.

"Reading in the dark is bad for your eyes," Chris added, and switched on a desk light.

Rose sat in a cushioned corner, knees drawn up to her chest. She didn't look up. Her sons made their way to her corner and sat down, offering silent support. They both knew she'd talk when she was ready. Long minutes passed before Rose's voice, hoarse from crying, broke the quiet.

"I thought I could do this," she said, barely above a whisper. "I lost him once, then again and again and again… Still, I always found my way back. But this is permanent. I thoug- I thought I could handle it."

She looked up at her sons. _They look so much like their father._ "But I don't know if I can… Look at us! We're not- We're…" She broke down, crying again.

"We'll get through this, Mum. The three of us. Maybe… Maybe we can go somewhere? A trip?" Mickey said, hugging Rose with one arm, the other wiping tears from her face.

"Yeah, we'll go to Fiji! Or Pompeii. You love Pompeii, always said it was your favorite place to go," Chris said, holding her hands in both of his.

"Nah, she said Venice was," Mickey said, frown creasing his forehead.

"No, that was you're favorite place. Mum said she liked Pompeii because it wasn't there in her world, nothing was a bit off to her, and therefore didn't make her homesick."

"She also said stop talkin' about her like she wasn't there," Rose said, a tiny smile fighting hard to grace her lips.

"Sorry, Mum," they said simultaneously.

Rose sat looking at her boys for a long moment.

_Together…_

"Alright, boys. We leave tomorrow night. Nothing better then a red-eye flight over Europe, eh?"

"Tomorrow?! But- not all our clothes are here! I mean, I'll need-" Chris placed his hand over his brothers mouth. Mickey glared at him.

"You can buy clothes when we get there, alright?" Mickey reluctantly nodded.

"You still have clothes here, too," Rose pointed out.

"Mum! I took my best clothes with me. But I guess we could go shopping." Mickey heaved a mock put-upon sigh and stood.

"Oh come off it. You know you can't pass up a shopping trip. Just like Mum and Gran, you are." Chris followed and reached a hand out to Rose.

"C'mon, Mum. Uncle Tony's probably gone and eaten all the pancakes, and we're still waiting on that coffee." Mickey was already making his way to the door, when he paused and turned back. "Mind you, he really could use the carbs. He's skinny as a twig."

Rose and Chris joined him at the door, nodding their agreement. Rose switched off the desk light and listened to her two sons bicker about how come it took them hours of working out to stay skinny, and their uncle seemed to come by it naturally.

"It's half the same genetics!"

"Ah, but Mum's from a different version of Granddad. He could have been chubby," Chris argued.

Rose shook her head and met them at the stairs.

"Your Uncle Tony is that skinny because every day since he was 16 he's had a Vitex. The drink of which, I might add, you both are part heirs. And, might I also add, the drink you said, and I quote, 'tastes like Weevil urine,' and you would rather eat my mother's pot roast." Rose said smugly. The twins paused, mouths agape.

Chris turned to Mickey and whispered, "I thought he said they were just fizzy drinks!" Mickey shrugged.

"What I would like to know," Rose added, turning back to where they stopped, "is how, exactly, you know what Weevil urine tastes like." She smirked at their expressions and continued on to the kitchen, where she hoped Tony and Jess saved her some food.

For the first time since the Doctor died, Rose had hope that she really would pull through and remain whole.

_I still have my sons._

_

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_

Reviews are love, as are late night chocolate chip pancakes…


	4. Chapter Three

I've never had a baby, so I'm just going off of tv and movies, kay?

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"I understand that, yes. But as I recall I am still in charge, am I not?" Rose resisted the urge to add colourful swear words and instead counted to ten in French, then in Raxacoricofallapatorion.

"Of course, ma'am. However, I think it is-"

"Anthony, leave the thinking to those who have more experience in the matter." She cradled the phone against her shoulder and idly doodled in her planner. This was a conversation she's had many times with Anthony Cook, and she highly doubted it would be the last. She'd fire him, if he wasn't so damned good as his job.

"I am going on a trip with my family. I will be back before the quarterly meeting next month. You are in charge until I return. _Do not _make me regret my choice." She heard a small, sharp breath and softened her voice the tiniest bit. "I know you're not as dumb as you pretend to be. Use this time to prove it to your coworkers."

"Yes- yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Rose blew a stray lock of hair off her face and rolled her eyes.

"This doesn't mean I like you, Anthony. It just means I think you're the best for the job." She hung up in the middle of another "Of course, ma'am," and tossed the pen onto her desk.

She hated to admit it, but he really was the best for the job. Ace shot, keen under pressure… But he had to do something about the dumb blonde persona he used publicly.

"It's people like him who give blondes a bad name," Rose mumbled, leaning back in her chair, at a loss as to what to do next.

Chris and Mickey were cleaning out the milk and other perishables, and Tony and Jessica left for Glasgow an hour before; for the first time since last night, Rose found herself alone with nothing to occupy her thoughts.

She tried to stay busy the whole day, the whole week really. But everything was taken care of and day-to-day dealings were returning back to a semblance of normalcy.

Rose swallowed thickly. She wouldn't cry again. She swore she'd be strong, like he would have wanted. Only last night she was chastising herself for not crying enough, and now it seemed its all she wanted to do. The irony wasn't lost on her.

_Think about the years we had together, not the years I'll have without him, _she thought, her eyes drifting to a picture she kept next to her phone. Her and the Doctor, each holding a new born. It was taken in her hospital room, hours after Mickey and Chris were born.

They were so happy; Rose thought she never saw her Doctor more happy then he was that day.

"_Come on, Rose. One more push!" The nurse urged her, and Rose glared at the woman with the funny hat. Oh how they were reminding her of the Cat Nuns. She gripped her husbands hand tighter and met his eyes. His grin and responding squeeze told Rose he thought the same thing of the nursing staff. _

"_We're never…getting… a cat!" She managed to say, before her voice broke off into a pained cry. _

"_That's it, Rose. You did great. Listen!" The Doctor said, wiping her brow. Rose took a deep breath and that's when she heard it. A tiny wailing. _

"_It's a boy," the normal doctor said, holding up a small purplish red baby._

"_Okay, Rose, you still have one more waiting to come out. You ready to push again?" The same nurse asked, rubbing Rose's left knee as one of her colleagues took the first twin to be cleaned and weighed. _

"_No," Rose said with a shaky breath. But she lifted herself a bit one pillows and resumed her death grip on her husbands hand. _

"_Concentrate on the picture, Rose. You can do it." Her eyes met the Doctors again and his smile was all she needed to get her strength back. Giving a small nod, she turned her gaze to the picture pinned to the opposite wall. The birth of a star, captured from far off in the galaxy. _

"_One, two, thee, push!" The nurse urged and Rose obeyed. "Good, good. You're almost there. Rest." Rose let her head flop back onto the pillow and accepted the ice chip the Doctor ran along her lips. _

"_Okay. One, two, three, push!" Rose heaved herself upright and pushed again. Her eyes bore into the picture, swimming out of focus as more pain tore through her. _

"_You're lucky you're human," She gritted out, aimed at her husband. She'd kill him for this if she knew he'd just regenerate again. _

"_One more good push, Rose." Doctor Stynwick encouraged, and Rose glared at him too, for good measure. _

"_One, two, three, push!" Rose pushed with all her strength, and that one pushed seemed to take ages. But finally, Rose heard another wail and let herself fall back onto the pillows, a large smile spread across her face regardless of the lingering pain. _

"_Another healthy boy. Congratulations." Dr. Stynwick passed the infant to a nurse to be cleaned up, and saw to Rose's recovery. A lot of blood was lost, but not enough to endanger the new mother. _

_The Doctor, meanwhile, had shifted his hand to intertwine their fingers, and was running his free hand through his wife's hair._

"_I love you, Rose." Rose gave him a smile, trying to regain some strength._

_They stayed that way- Rose laying down, eyes closed, and the Doctor sitting on the edge of her bed watching her, fingers running through her hair- for a few minutes, until two nurses arrived._

"_Would you like to hold you're twins, Mrs. Tyler-Smith?" One asked, and passed a soft, fresh smelling baby boy into her waiting arms. The other nurse handed the Doctor his other son with a smile. _

"_They're beautiful," Rose murmured. She couldn't take her eyes off the bundle in her arms. _

"_They have my nose," the Doctor said, his finger gently touching the feature. _

"_I'm a mum," said Rose, awe apparent in her voice. She looked up at the Doctor and couldn't quite believe she was there. She was a mum to twins, with the Doctor. She'd dreamed of being with him practically since they first met, big ears, bad attitude and all. _

"_You'll be a great mum, Rose." The Doctor looked down at her then to the baby in her arms. _

"_And you'll be a great dad again." They smiled at each other. Rose was okay knowing he had a past. She had one too. Maybe not as big as his, but their future was together, and that's all that mattered._

"_You need to go tell Mum." The Doctors smile slipped a bit._

_Probably, Rose thought, because Mum'll most likely hug him. _

_oOo_

_Jackie slapped him for not going to tell her straight away, then hugged him and said she was sorry for the slap over and over again. _

_Which was, thankfully in the Doctors opinion, cut short as he finally led her to her daughters room and she saw her grandsons for the first time. _

_oOo_

"_They need names," Rose said, watching the Doctor hold both boys as he sat near her hospital room window. Jackie had hurried off in search of a good cup of tea, adamant that that was all her daughter needed to regain her strength._

"_I still think Fred and George would be brilliant," he replied, grinning. _

"_Mum'd slap you again if we did that," Rose laughed. _

"_She'll just think of other things to slap me for," the Doctor reasoned, shrugging as best he could. _

"_I always liked the name Christian. Thought it sounded sophisticated."_

"_Christian Tyler-Smith. Not bad. We could call him Chris," The Doctor nodded._

"_He'd need a middle name." Rose considered for a moment, then smiled. _

"_Well- what are you grinning like that for?" The Doctor questioned, eyes squinting suspiciously._

"_We promised Mum they wouldn't be the first names. Christian George Tyler-Smith has a certain ring to it." _

_The Doctor grinned madly, "Rose, my devious little timorous beastie!" He looked down at Tyler-Smith One- as it indicated on his bracelet- and nodded, quite seriously. "You are now Christian George Tyler-Smith."_

"_And I suppose the other's middle name will be Fredrick. What sounds good with that?" Rose asked, shifting into a sitting position and reaching for her glass of water._

"_Mickey," the Doctor said, hardly pausing to think. "Mickey Fredrick Tyler-Smith."_

_Rose almost chocked on her water. Coughing, she managed, "What?"_

"_Are you alright, Rose?" he asked, about to get up and get a nurse._

"_M'fine," she coughed once more and cleared her throat. "Did you just say Mickey?"_

"_Yeah," the Doctor got up anyway and handed the yet to be named baby to his mum._

"_You want to name our son Mickey. After Mickey. My ex-boyfriend Mickey. The bloke you liked to call Mickey the Idiot."_

"_Yeah, that's about right." The Doctor said, nodding._

"_Well, just so we're clear," Rose mumbled._

"_I also want to name this little guy," he gently stroked the baby cheek, "after your best friend. The man who saved the world, looked after you when I wasn't around, and still loved you even when I was. He was -is- a brilliant man, and I know you miss him."_

_Rose felt tears building and sniffed. "You're my best friend, Doctor." _

"_Ah, but he was your best friend before I was. You shouldn't forget about him, just like you haven't forgotten about the other me. Besides," he added, sitting on the edge of her bed, "I'm your husband now. You have me, but he's not here anymore."_

"_You're the same person. There isn't a you to not forget about," Rose said, hoping she wasn't blushing._

"_You have a leather coat, that neither you or I ever wear, but that sits in our wardrobe. Looks remarkably familiar." The Doctor said, with a grin to show he wasn't upset._

"_Oh. Thought you meant the other other you," Rose sighed. _

"_Nah, he's just a pretty boy with a TARDIS," the Doctor grinned widely._

"_You're identical…"_

"_That's true, yes. But I have you, so that makes me better." The grin turned cheeky and Rose rolled her eyes. _

"_So you're Mickey Fredrick Tyler-Smith," she stated, looking down at the infant she held. "Thank you, Doctor," she added softly, smiling, just in time for her mum to appear in the doorway with the tea in one hand and a disposable camera in the other. She took the perfect picture; Rose holding Mickey, propped up on the bed, the Doctor holding Chris, sitting in front of her on the edge, both smiling down at their sons._

_oOo_

"He told me I'd never looked more beautiful," Rose said aloud, still looking at the photo.

A sudden, deafening crack of thunder startled her out of her memory and she swiveled around to face the window.

"It wasn't meant to storm today," she mused, eyes squinting up into the darkening clouds, headless of the tears running silently down her cheeks.

"Mum! They're sayin' on the news a tornado touched down in Kent. Destroyed a whole neighborhood." Chris shouted from the other end of the house.

Rose continued to watch the storm increase in intensity. "It really wasn't meant to. I checked the news," she went on, head tilted to the side.

It was practically night time now, with the dark clouds completely obscuring the sun. "The Darkness," she whispered, then shook her head, finally wiping away the tears. "That's over with. Something else, then."

"Talking to yourself again?" Rose turned to look at Mickey and shrugged.

"No other way I can have an intelligent conversation, is there?"

"You speak poniards, Mother. And every one stabs," Mickey said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. Rose snorted. Leave it to her son to be able to quote from a Shakespeare play that didn't even exist in their universe.

"What's all this about a tornado in Kent?" she asked, standing and stretching.

"One wiped out a neighborhood near Cranbrook. St. Dunstans Church got some damage, but mostly just from flying debris." Mickey explained, leaning on the doorframe.

"Anything we could do to help?" Rose was already reaching for her planner and a pen, intent on pushing back the holiday in favor of helping those affected.

"Vitex?" Mickey shrugged. "We could send some money to the Blue Cross, some supplies to the immediate area. Torchwood? We'd have to make some calls to the office and see if anything registered on the scans. If it's not alien, not much we can do on that front."

"Right. Get on that, Mick. And call Tony too, have them check Glasgow, just in case. Looks like I'll have to call Anthony again. Although he would have mentioned something…" She sighed, shaking her head.

_No he wouldn't. Not if it meant doing my job behind my back._

"I could call London for you, and you can deal with Cardiff," Mickey offered, knowing his mum didn't like her second in command.

"Thanks sweetie, but Anthony is my issue. And besides, maybe I'll call Maria directly. She's our brains on the computers."

"Right, well then. I'll get in touch with Connor and see what's there." He turned to go. "And don't even think about canceling our trip. This could very well be nothing, and the people we left in charge are more then capable of handling it if it is a small something," he added, not even looking back.

Rose did the mature thing then, and stuck her tongue out at her youngest son.

"Entirely to perceptive, he is."

"Heard that," Mickey called back, grin apparent in his voice.

"With ears like his father," she added, louder this time, and was rewarded with Mickey's laughter floating along the hallway.

She sat back down to make more calls and add a reminder for herself to call the Blue Cross and Vitex's charity organizations into her planner.

Phone lifted, number dialed and pen poised to make the note, Rose finally saw what she'd doodled earlier.

Bad Wolf.

"_No_."

Then the lights went out.

* * *

Reviews are love, so are ferns.

I have one. A fern. A tiny air-fern named La Fern N. Shirley. She's Creole.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Things happen for a reason; there's no such thing as coincidences. That's always been Chris's motto, his belief. He held steadfast to it when he (and Mickey) took over Torchwood 3 when he was only 23, fresh out of University with an accelerated masters degree in theoretical physics and a minor associates degree in yoga instruction. The latter of which was originally taken in his first year as a stress reliever, but had grown into something else entirely.

No one thought it odd. After all, his mother used to be a gymnast- for however short a time- and his father never stop moving.

When the family celebrated his mum's 50th birthday that same year, he started to question it. He'd been so wrapped up in trying to stay out of the trouble Mickey always put them in, then in his studies, that he didn't notice their mum looked like she did when he was little, whereas their dad was graying and wrinkling.

But when Mickey and him turned 40 is when his belief really started to fracture. The obligatory photo of the two of them was taken, and in it, Chris saw they looked exactly like they did in his Uni. graduation photo.

Then their dad died, and Chris found himself wondering how deluded he could have been. Not everything happened for a reason. Why did his father have to die? What purpose did it serve for him to age when his sons and wife didn't?

So now he found himself at 54, looking 23, and lately, feeling like he were 60. He put on a strong face and air for his mum and brother. Seamlessly slipping into the role of martyr, holding his own grief at bay by taking care of his remaining family.

They needed someone sensible and reassuring. Someone strong. His brother knew, of course, that he was desperately clinging to the fragile spider web of his composure. As he, in turn, knew Mickey's humor was a coping mechanism, used more for their mums sake than his own.

It was exhausting, being the pillar for the two, but he couldn't- wouldn't- have it any other way. Their mum needed someone to take care of her, and Chris didn't want his little brother to have to do it.

Even if he was only younger by a minute and a half.

Chris shook his head at his own stubborn kind-heartedness and flicked the living room TV on.

"…casualties expected to number in the hundreds. No word yet as to why the warning system failed to activate."

Chris sank down into the sofa, grabbing for the remote and turning up the volume.

"If you're just tuning in, a tornado, measuring to be an F5, touched down near Cranbrook, Kent. We are awaiting word on the official damage done, however we have reason to believe the area has been decimated."

The anchorwoman was handed a sheaf of paper, which she scanned quickly. "Our meteorologists have predicted the storm which produced the tornado is heading north-west at an incredible rate. The whole of London is under immediate alert for-"

A crack of thunder made Chris jump, the remainder of the woman's sentence lost in the sound.

He turned his head slightly, eyes still on the news- now showing the Doppler radar for the area.

"Mum! They're sayin' on the news a tornado touched down in Kent. Destroyed a whole neighborhood." He yelled, hoping she was off the phone already.

He felt Mickey hurry into the room, more then heard him.

"Oh. Should have known you'd have the news on," he said, plopping down on the overstuffed chair their father used to favor.

"You heard about it too, then." It was more of a statement. He had left the small TV in the kitchen on the local news when he finished tossing out the food that wouldn't keep.

Mickey nodded before heaving himself back up. "I'm gonna go tell Mum. She'll probably welcome the excuse to get off the phone with Anthony."

Chris hummed, his attention once more on the news.

oOo

"She's calling her Torchwood, just in case it's not natural. I'll call Connor, if you'll call Uncle Tony and have him check in with Glasgow. He's not going to be back yet, but you can leave a voicemail or something."

"Right. Did you tell her not to even think about canceling the trip?" Chris asked, knowing their mum was likely to do just that.

"Course. Told her-" The lights going out stopped him mid sentence.

A sudden sensation, like thinking there was one last step but having your foot only fall through air, fell over Mickey.

He felt his brother reaching for him, and held out his own arm. A warm, solid hand closed around his wrist tightly and then he was being led to what he assumed was the old antique roll top desk in the corer. He could have been wrong, but that's the direction he thought they were going in.

He heard the rolling groan of the un-oiled top and knew he was right. Chris let go of him. Some shuffling later, a torch snapped on and both brothers took off at a jog to their mum's office.

oOo

"No. That's all over. It's over!" The chocked words reached Chris's ears and he shared a glance with Mickey, tilting his head to the right. Mickey nodded and, as they reached the office, detoured to the cupboard hidden in shadows next to the door.

He pulled out the backup candles and the only torch that was there, which he promptly switched on. In the minimal light it provided, he took in the scene a few short steps away. Rose was hunched on the chair, one knee drawn up to her chest. A trembling hand held a ripped piece of paper, that, upon Mickey's further study appeared to be from her planner. Chris knelt in front of her, whispering gently, trying to get the paper free of her grasp. He concentrated for a second and felt desperation, longing, and more potently, fear. At that close of a space he wasn't sure if the fear was hers or Chris's. He knew he was frightened, but he didn't understand why.

"Mum? It's alright, shh," Chris whispered as Mickey walked towards them and laid the candles down onto the desk. "Mickey-"

"I'm here," he assured, his hand briefly resting on Chris's shoulder before kneeling next to him.

Mickey watched as Rose stared at them both, not quite knowing what had upset her so much in so short a time.

She took a deep breath, and, almost visibly, seemed to come to a decision.

Mickey exchanged a look with his twin, who shrugged.

"Have either of you noticed these two words anywhere lately?" She said, voice stronger then either would have thought her capable of at the moment. She held out the torn paper and Mickey aimed his light at it.

"Bad Wolf?" Chris said aloud, and Mickey saw his mum flinch.

"From the story? The warrior who ended the Time War?" Confusion clear in his voice, Mickey shook his head. He looked again at his brother, expecting him to look just as confused, but was surprised to see his eyes widening.

"Mum?" Chris asked, almost hesitantly.

"I'm so sorry Chris, Mick. There were just things neither your father or I wanted brought back up."

"Bad Wolf wasn't just a story, was she?" Chris went on, and it all fell into place for Mickey.

His parents had told them all about Time Lords, the War, although that one wasn't as detailed. And how they met, their adventures, everything. The only other things truly glossed over were the teary goodbye on a beach- neither would say what beach- and the loss of their companion Jack- Daleks, was all either said. And even that last tale always seemed somehow unfinished.

As time went on, and the boys became teenagers and matured, the past was fully laid open for them to understand. After all, their father was, or at least had been, a Time Lord- even if he were human then. That was part of the boys heritage, as much as the tiny bit of Irish they got from their mother. They wanted the boys to understand their families history.

But the story of the Bad Wolf was told to the boys as simply that. A story. About different people-

"No." His mums voice broke into Mickey's thoughts and he started up into eyes that were far to old for her young appearance.

"But," he looked over at Chris, feeling to many mixed emotions to even try and separate them. "Even Dad said it happened to other people."

"Different people, Mickey." Chris said, not looking at him. "They've never actually told us that it was other people. Just different people.

Roses hand reached down and swept hair off his forehead with a small smile. "Took you long enough to realize that." Apprehension took center stage, and it was enough that Mickey knew, even in such close proximity, who's it was. He decided to take charge this time, and rested his hand on his brothers shoulder once more.

"Maybe we should have this talk once we've set up some lights?" He suggested.

"Yeah, that sounds good." His mum said, appreciatively. Mickey used Chris as a crutch to stand, and thought they could all use something stronger then tea.

oOo

The family gathered in a circle on the living room floor, like they used to when the twins were boys and bad weather hit, putting all activities on hold. Cocoa would be made on the gas stove- the Doctors own special recipe- and they'd sit in a circle, a lantern-light in the middle, telling stories.

Rose wished more then anything she could taste that cocoa again. She never could get it to come out right, though she knew the recipe by heart.

Thunder rumbled and lighting flashed, illuminating the living room and their smaller circle. She took a deep breath, shaking off the part of the past that wasn't in question.

"We really were different people back then. Your father even more so," Rose briefly looked at the still blackened windows of the living room, her expression turned inward, aimed at the memory of that different man with his leather jacket and 'you're all stupid apes' attitude.

The storm still raged outside, sending hard rain pelting against the glass; a staccato in time with her heart.

"You have to believe me, boys. We thought this was entirely behind us. We were together, finally, for good. There was no reason for me to be led back to him-"

"Expect now he's not here…" Mickey trailed off as Rose turned back to look at him, fierce resolve hard in her eyes.

"But it shouldn't matter! Its over with. Bad Wolf did what she had to do. She led me back to your father, so the universes could be saved. So you two could be born. And she did it, they were saved, and we were- _are _-a family." She gripped the cushion she held tighter.

"But there's another Dad out there, right? Is Bad Wolf making this happen?" Mickey said. He nodded to the window, but Rose was already shaking her head, forcing down the lump in her throat. _That one's not your father, Mick._

"It doesn't work like that. She's a message."

Chris had sat silently so far, thinking. He was always the one to think things through rationally before entering any debate, now was no different.

"In the story, Bad Wolf appeared to lead her warrior to her champion. Written on park benches, cement walls and paved play yards. With a matching set at some other point in time and space with the champion, acting as a connecting rod to the ones near the warrior…" Chris said, talking almost to himself. "So, theoretically, Bad Wolf appearing here, means Bad Wolf appeared in the other universe also. With the other Dad."

"He isn't your father!" Rose stopped herself from going on and took a deep breath, burying her face in the cushion. "'M sorry, love. Your right. In theory that's what should have happened. But we don't know if this is actually what it is. I could have just subconsciously wrote it. With all that's happened…"

Mickey scooted closer to her and pried the pillow away. "But you might not have."

Chris was nodding, "we shouldn't rule anything out." Rose sighed, but conceded the point.

"Alright, but nothing has changed, you hear me?" She straightened herself up, a posture her mum would have laughed at back in their old small flat. "Bad Wolf or not, I am still your mum. No matter how much you think I need takin' care of, or how unusual our family circumstances are."

Mickey and Chris exchanged a look. "Yes, Mum," they said in unison and Rose gave a sharp nod before once more looking out the darkened window.

oOo

The storm finally tapered off to a gentle shower not long after the families talk and Rose was almost positive there would be sunny skies in the morning. Around six that evening the lights came back on, and the calls to all Torchwoods were finished.

Nothing alien on any scanner, although the Rift in Cardiff did give off a small blip just before the storm reached there.

None thought it significant, since high intensity storms with all that charged energy sometimes had that effect on Rift activity.

Tony assured them he'd double check Glasgow and handle the Vitex charity donations for the tornado relief fund, and anything London may require once the light of day brought in the storms damage.

The family trip was indeed pushed back until the next morning, and this time they'd be taking the Vitex private zeppelin, instead of a commercial one. It was something Rose avoided using. No matter how long she lived there, she still felt vaguely uncomfortable with all the wealth and privileges.

And so the Tyler-Smith family went back to preparing the house and packing; the normalcy of it almost laughable after the afternoon events.

oOo

The following morning, as the sun peaked the horizon, Mickey and Chris loaded their bags into the newly arrived company car, and Rose made a last minute packing decision. She wasn't sure why, but there was one more thing she wanted with her.

Hurriedly she opened the carved rosewood jewelry box Pete had given her as a wedding present and lifted it's false bottom. Only two people knew of the treasures she kept hidden there, and now there was only one. Not even Jackie knew what it truly held, nor had Pete known the alterations the Doctor had made on it.

"Mum! Hurry up, will you? The cars here and we're gonna be late! I told you that outfit's fine to wear for the flight; you want to be comfortable on long trips." Mickey's voice filtered up from the entryway bellow.

"Be right there. Just looking for my camera!" She lied, and set the false bottom aside. Almost reverently she reached in. First to be pulled out was a leather bound journal. That was the Doctors. All that knowledge in his mind, all the half thoughts that didn't truly take root. As he aged, his mind went sideways.

In one of his more lucid days, like that of his final ones, he confided in Rose that having a Time Lord mind in a mortal body has side effects. That Donna, brilliant Doctor-Donna, would end up with nice people in white coats -or worse- if the other Doctor didn't do something about it. And that he would only fair half as better.

He warned her early on that as he aged his mind would work faster then other peoples, that some things wouldn't make sense. It would come off as if his sanity were slipping.

So Rose went out and bought him a journal to keep all those thoughts in. Every page, she knew, was filled. Some even overfilled. She never read any of it. Just put it in with her other treasure when the Doctor could no longer hold a pen enough to write.

She set the journal off to the side.

The final item was cold to the touch. Finger and thumb grasping the loop, Rose slowly lifted her old TARDIS key.

"Mum!" Mickey called again. She started, her head snapping towards the door, as if caught doing something she wasn't supposed to.

"Coming!" She called back, and slipped the key into the pocket of her jeans.

She hesitated, hand hovering over the notebook. Her breathing quickened and she nodded decisively. She'd bring the journal.

Quickly she replaced the bottom and closed the box. Pausing in her rush only to carefully slide the notebook into her bag. It was a tight fit, but Rose didn't trust it in her suitcase.

She pulled her luggage to the top of the stairs and looked down at her impatiently waiting son. "If you want me moving faster, you could offer to carry these," she jerked her head at the two suitcases.

Some shuffling and rearranging later, the family was on their way to the airfield and their awaiting 10 hour flight.

Not for the first time Rose missed regular old airplanes.

She superstitiously patted her pocket; never mind the instant gratification of the TARDIS.

* * *

Reviews are love, so is hot cocoa


	6. Chapter Five

Thank you, Jael, for being brilliant ^-^ I don't feel like an idiot with the geo because of her.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"Ace beats your ten," Mickey said, grinning. His hand went out to slide the cards to his side, only to have Chris stop him.

"Does not. Ace counts as a one." His own hand went to take the cards. Mickey pushed it away.

"No, ace is higher, it could be one or eleven."

"That's not in War."

"Is too."

"Is not." Chris tried for the cards again. Mickey, reflexes quick as his fathers had been, reached out for them at the same time. Each twin tugged for control.

Rose looked on in silent amusement. She'd step in if the cards looked to be in mortal danger. At the moment, they where only being bent.

She let their bickering wash over her and turned her attention back to the papers in her hand.

As much as leaving was an escape, life didn't stop for it. The family solicitor had arrived at the airfield moments before the zeppelin was to take off, bringing with him documents that required signatures before they could go through and be finalized, and a briefcase of which Rose was told was hers to look over.

Having thought everything had been already taken care of regarding her late husband, she had been short with the man- though not unkind. He was, after all, doing his job.

She couldn't blame him for giving her a black cloud on her vacation. A slightly crooked, oddly shaped black cloud that held more questions then answers and made no sense what-so-ever.

She sighed. The legal documents in the briefcase appeared ordinary; their contents Rose was finding however, was not.

The Doctor had left no will that she had known about, and indeed, the solicitor had concurred there had not been one. All the Doctor owned was given to her automatically. Less messy that way, was his reasoning, so long ago when they'd talked about it.

Wills required a reading and witnesses. Their family was to secretive for that, and besides, all that he had would have gone to his family anyway.

Rose hadn't argued.

But what had her intently reading instead of enjoying the flight and card games, was what the Doctor had instead left.

The ownership and command of a research facility. Outside of Torchwood, and so secret that it was in plain sight and no one was any the wiser to it.

"What were you doing, Doctor?" Rose muttered to herself as she read. There was a lab up in Yorkshire, and another closer to home in Lewisham. A half thought pricked her mind, and she frowned, staring intently at the name.

She reached for the briefcase on the seat opposite her.

"Mum! Tell Chris that an ace can mean one and eleven." Mickey called back to her.

"An ace can be either," she said, absently. Her sons simultaneous "Told you," and "Damn," were lost in the shuffling of papers. Her hand brushed the 'If lost, return to' tag and she quickly slid her eyes past.

She bit her lower lip and quickly rifled though, pulling out anything with the header Lewisham. This proved to be the majority of the documents and Rose sat back with a huff.

Lewisham, she knew, was in Southeast London in both universes. But not in the same place. She looked down at the handful of papers and tried to bring up a mental map of her old London.

She couldn't, not with certainty. There was just to much of it, and she'd been gone to long, and anyway, she'd never paid any attention to geography back in primary.

"Chris? Mickey? One of you be the good son I know you are and ask our pilot if he's a map of London to spare?" She bit her lower lip, and tried to think.

_Teaches you to not pay attention, doesn't it?_ She scolded herself. General languages, alien and Earthly, she knew conversationally- some better then others. What species aliens are she can tell after at least her second sighting of them. But standard geography of the city she's lived in practically her entire life?

_Rose, you'll be studying that map until you bring it up crystal clearly in your mind. _That determined, she looked back to see if her sons had done as she'd asked.

Only seeing Mickey there, she assumed Chris had.

"So, who won?" She asked her remaining son. Mickey grinned and shuffled the cards.

"He did." Rose frowned.

"Then why the grin?"

"I just ate his last handful of crisps," he held the bag up and scrunched it into a ball. Rose was saved from scolding her fully grown son as Chris reentered the cabin carrying a folded map.

"Here. He said you could have it." Rose took it from him and moved to the back, where two sofas sat along opposite walls. She dropped the collected documents on the sofa behind her and spread the map out on the floor, standing over it.

"Thanks Chris. I've still got my bag of crisps, if you want them," she offered, looking over to him and smiling.

"I've still some left-" he broke off and glared at his brother, suddenly knowing.

Rose tuned out their new round of bickering and concentrated on the map.

She found Lewisham and placed her toe on it. Then it clicked. Her toe- bare since it was a long flight, and shoes were confining when one was just sitting- was just on the edge of a landmark sign. The Globe Theater.

"Southwark," she almost laughed. Her first 19 years... She sat where she was and pulled the papers off the sofa. She flipped through them, making sure she they were in order before she settled in to fully read and re-read them. Things just got more interesting.

She paused on the final document. It was a half page, and there at the bottom was a hand written annotation. It was in the Doctors handwriting. Somewhat messy, indicating it was written only a year ago, if that.

_This facility, located in Lewisham, London, and encompassing an aboveground bio-technology laboratory and an underground bunker, is left in the care of Mrs. Rose Tyler-Smith, with the terms that she not hesitate to use it to her full advantage, should the need arise. _

"But what do they do there?" She wondered aloud. No where in any of the pages had they come out and say what, exactly, the place was for. Nor what it's name was. It was merely the noted as the Lewisham branch of the research facility.

"What's all this then, Mum?" Rose started, looking up to find her twins had wandered over, their squabble of snacks apparently over.

She knew she should tell them… _But what's there really to tell? _

"You're dad seems to have had a side project." She handed the bundle of papers to Chris.

The twins plopped down on the sofa in front of her and looked them over.

"Research? '…should the need arise' ?" Mickey looked up a few moments later. Rose had watched them in silence. Looking for any hint they might know what it was all about.

_Seems I wasn't the only one this was kept from._

"I haven't a clue. Only now I wish we'd gotten these before we'd left. I want to go there and see what it's all about."

"Hmm." Chris hummed. He looked down at the map and tilted his head. "Why'd you need the map?"

"Lewisham isn't where it is here in my old universe. It would be Southwark," she sighed. "I was born there. Lived the first 19 years of my life there."

"And dad opened a facility, a secret one at that, in the place where you were born?"

That gave Rose pause. How close, exactly, was it to where she'd grown up?

"I'm not sure. I hadn't found an address anywhere." But now that she thought of it, it seemed very likely. Most things had doubles in the other universe. Torchwood 1 was in the same place in both worlds, as was 3 and the Rift.

The place she was from, where she'd been born, and lived, and grew up- none of it was there in this world. Or at least, it wasn't in the same place. In all the time she'd lived there, she'd never thought to look for this worlds Powell Estates.

_Why would he do that? _

"But why would he have done that?" Mickey said, breaking into her musings and echoing her thought.

"You're father probably had his reason, Mick. Maybe when we figure out what they do there, we'll know."

They all lapsed into contemplative silence. Rose had no idea, apart from a slight whisper of confusion, what her sons were thinking of. But her own thoughts were troubled and uneasy. She could pretend all she wanted, but she'd noticed the Bad Wolf on the briefcases inner flyleaf.

oOo

She was dreaming. She knew she was, but it didn't matter. The Doctor was there, she was there; they were walking on Woman Wept.

"'S beautiful. Just like I remember." A hand slid into her own.

"Yes." The strong northern accent made her smile grow to a grin, tongue poking between her teeth. She ran her free hand along the frozen wave, not minding the sting of cold ice. The warmth of their joined hands was enough to balance it.

"I miss you." Such a simple thing to say, but to her, it was the most important phrase to ever pass her lips.

"I know," the tone was solemn, but she knew him well enough to hear what he didn't say. '_I miss you too'. _They walked a while in silence, the soft crunching of snow and ice the only sound.

"How long has it been?" He asked. He almost sounded like he was afraid to ask it.

Rose took a deep breath and held it for a second. "About sixty years. They blend together after a while." She shrugged. She'd long given up keeping track of how the years differ in the two universes. Best, she found, to just round up or down.

She heard the Doctor take a deep breath; his equivalent of a shocked gasp. This next one was easier: "And exactly four days. Since my husband died." She squeezed his hand. They were different people now. In her heart, and in her mind, they weren't the same man anymore. Her first leather-clad Doctor and her second were, yes, but her husband was in a league of his own. Had been since the day they were married.

"Rose-"

"No, Doctor. I wouldn't have traded it for the world." A tear fell down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away, afraid it would freeze; afraid that he would see it. "Enjoy this Doctor. It's been so long…" His hand tightened on hers in response.

Silence reigned again, and Rose felt her crushing loss anew. _So long… _

"Who…?" She felt the Doctor tense slightly, ready to put himself in front of her. Rose squinted ahead. A person was hurriedly making his way toward the pair.

"Mickey?" Rose asked, astonished. She felt the Doctors gaze jerk towards her.

"Mickey the Idiot?" He said, surprised. But Rose ignored him.

"Mick, what's wrong?" She pulled her hand free of the Doctors as Mickey came closer.

"Mum! You have to wake up!" Rose felt the desperation float off him in waves. She took a step away from the Doctor. He tried to pull her back.

"Rose? That's not-" She shook her head, cutting him off.

Still staring at Mickey she said, "He's my son, Doctor. He's my son." And she ran towards him and away from her past; she hadn't once looked at the Doctor.

oOo

Rose looked around in confusion for second. Wasn't she just on-?

"Mum." A hand shook her shoulder lightly.

_The zeppelin, _she thought, sighing. She looked towards her son. "What is it, Mick? That was the best sleep I've had since…" She trailed off, not wanting to say it again.

_Again?_ She shook herself, and sat up.

"Something's wrong. The pilot said to strap in," Mickey continued. And that's when she felt the trembling and jarring. She pulled herself off the sofa, pulling a scrap of paper off her cheek as the zeppelin rocked, a hard tilt and bump.

Rose reached out to steady herself on Mickey's shoulder. She laughed. "Been ages since I've been on such a bumpy flight." They made their way to the seats, both swaying and using each other for support.

Rose plopped down in her seat, still chuckling. "Guess it ain't like riding a bike. Don't seem to have my sea legs anymore, as it were."

"Was Dad really that bad of a pilot?" Mickey asked as he too sat and pulled the seat belt across his lap.

"You've seen his driving, Mick." They shared a smile. Then Rose abruptly sobered. "Wasn't all his fault, course. But enough of that. What happened?"

Chris answered from his place across from Mickey. "Roy-"

"That's the pilot, Mum." Mickey added. Rose knew who the pilot was, and had a feeling he said it just to annoy his brother. She stifled a small laugh at the expression on Chris's face.

He continued as if his brother hadn't interrupted. "…said we hit unexpected turbulence. Said it was odd, since we're not flying high enough to encounter it this strongly."

"Where are we?" She turned to look out the window. All she could see where massive clouds of light gray and off white.

"Switzerland, I think." Chris swallowed thickly. Rose looked sympathetically at her son; he never was a good flyer.

"Need a bag?" Mickey asked cheekily. He, however, once wanted to be a pilot.

Chris glared at his brother and took a deep breath. "I'm alright. It's just the turbulence." The zeppelin jolted again and Chris closed his eyes.

Rose decided to let him be. There really wasn't anything she could do anyway.

"It'll be over soon," she assured. She tightened her own seatbelt and the great ship lurched and lost altitude. Stomach somewhere around her throat, Rose closed her own eyes.

Then the motors were screaming, her sons yelling, and a foreboding crushing sound tore through the cabin. They were last things Rose heard before something struck her head and darkness swept her away.

* * *

Reviews are love


	7. Chapter Six

AN: Longest chapter yet! Big thanks to Jael, who without knowing it at the time, taught me what a plaster was haha.

I hope you enjoy your stay in the Lausanne Memorial Hospital.

_"This is me, speaking French. Cause I don't know it well enough and anyway, it'd be a _lot_ of translations at the end."_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

The first time Rose woke up it was only long enough to be aware of a loud humming, the acidic scent of burning and that she was cold despite the waves of heat washing over her.

Then blackness took her away again.

x

The second time, it was to the sensation of being carried. She wasn't cold anymore, but her limbs felt heavy, her chest burned and her eyes refused to open. And there were voices talking around her. They echoed in her mind. She strained to listen, though they hurt her head.

"We can't, Mickey. You know we can't." _Chris! Can't what?_ Her thoughts were muddled, she couldn't hold onto any.

"I know. I know, okay! But she's hurt. You're hurt-"

"It's nothing. Mum's-"

"You're ankle, Chris. It's not supposed to be purple and puffy."

"I'm fine."

She was sinking again, the voices were starting to sound farther and farther away.

"Like hell you are Christian-!"

She wanted to ask what happened. Wanted to make sure her sons were okay, wanted to-

x

The third time was for longer. She was laying on her back on…hay? She struggled with her eyes, trying to pry them open; it hurt to move her head. _What happened!_

It was darker, evening maybe? She rolled her eyes as far as she could to look around. No, just inside somewhere.

She moved her hands experimentally. Not bad, but her fingers felt stiff.

"C-" she swallowed, tried clearing her throat. "Chris?" Her voice was low and raspy. Smoke inhalation, a voice in her mind, one that sounded like the Doctor, provided.

It all came back to her then. Her husbands funeral, the vacation, the storm, the zeppelin. The research facility. And, finally, the crash.

Somewhere in the distance a horse snuffled.

"Mickey?" Tears swam in her eyes as she tried to take a deep breath.

Coughing interrupted her halfway though, little splatters of blood peppered her chin and the hay under her cheek. Pain tore through her chest; it was enough to send her back into unconsciousness.

x

The final time she woke up, her first instinct was to panic.

She couldn't move; there was something over her mouth and a beeping coming from next to her that increased in rate. _Captured? But by who…or what?_

Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the light, and when they did a new kind of panic swept though her.

The walls were white with flowery wallpaper bordering the ceiling, a small television hung in the corner next to a set of windows that had their blue curtains drawn mostly shut. A soft ray of light fell across her legs, glistening, golden and new: Dawn.

A chair sat under the telly, complete with occupant. The man was curled up, awkwardly folded into-and half spilling over-its unforgiving plastic contours. His face was turned to the wall. Rose squinted but couldn't tell which of her sons it was; he was wearing unremarkable navy scrubs.

A hospital. _The crash… Mickey-Chris! Oh god… No. They're alright. One is right there, not six feet from you. Breath Rose. The other is probably just in the loo… _

She took a shaky breath. The thing over her mouth was a breathing mask, she realized, feeling the clean oxygen flowing into her mouth and nose. She unconsciously took a deeper breath. The beeping was her heart monitor. It was going fast; she took another deep breath to calm herself.

_Panicking is only helpful when you need to start a distraction- or when you tell your mother-in-law her daughter's pregnant and that someone should declare said daughters office a historical landmark. _

The Doctor had told her that when they were captured on Christmas-again-and she was worried about their unborn sons. Rose shook her head and brought her mind away from the past.

She looked over at the heart monitor: slower, better.

But a _hospital. _

She'd have preferred it be alien abductors.

"Oh, this is not good," her voice came out mumbled from behind the mask. The sound, however low and muffled, woke the sleeping man.

"Mum!" Rose looked over at him again, and tried to smile. Mickey. The smile dropped as he came nearer and she took in the bruises that patterned his jaw and temple, the butterfly-bandaged cut on his eyebrow. The way he was walking told her they weren't the only bruises.

It was only then, as she became more aware of her surroundings and self, that she felt the desperation and relief that emanated from her son. And finally, she felt the pain, both hers and at least mentally, his.

_Where's Chris? Oh God, let him be alright. I can't lose one of my babies…_

She lifted the breathing mask and asked, still somewhat hoarsely, "where's your brother?"

Mickey sat on the side of her bed. "He's getting a brace for his ankle, they wanted to x-ray it first, make sure it wasn't a hairline fracture and just a bad sprain," he said as he swept her hair away from her eyes. "He'll be moved into the room right next door when they finish him up."

"What about you? Are you alright?" She tried to sit up and look him over but ended up hissing in pain. Talking too, was starting to hurt her. She couldn't work up the saliva.

"I'm fine, Mum. Chris'll be fine. It's you we're worried about," he pushed her gently back down. "You… Mum, you're in bad shape. Real bad. I talked to the doctor-"

Roses breath hitched. Mickey didn't notice, or pretended not to.

"He said you have a grade 3 concussion." His hand gently touched a spot on her head, near the back. "There was pressure, he said, on your brain. They had to drain it." Roses hand slowly lifted to feel the spot: gauze, not hair. "They had to shave a bit off. I already bought you a scarf from the gift shop, while you were in surgery."

Rose struggled to say something, but her throat was to dry and raw. Tears swam in her eyes. Whether they were from the pain or everything that's happened, she wasn't sure.

Mickey stood and poured her some water from the ugly off-blue pitcher. He helped Rose take a few sips, which she regretted doing as it burned her throat, but it was wet and cool.

He set the cup on the bedside table and resumed his seat on the bed.

"You shouldn't have brought me here, Mick. What happens when-" a cough interrupted her.

"Shh, it's alright, Mum." He soothed her, arranged her pillows better. "We had no choice. You weren't waking up, and your breathing was… it was wheezy and wet sounding. You started coughing up blood, Mum." He paused and closed his eyes.

Rose vaguely remembered hay and coughing and pain; she cautiously took another deep breath. It didn't hurt as much. That could be the medication, though.

Mickey went on, "You had blood in your lungs. From when the cabin collapsed on you. A- A small puncture from one of your ribs. It's a small break, nothing to bad. You were still unconscious when they decided to do the surgery. They couldn't wait any longer for you to wake up. For you to be- for you to be stable."

Rose lightly toughed her chest. She was so tired. But they had to leave, they couldn't stay there. Pain washed off Mickey, and Rose saw tears in his eyes.

"It was spotty for while, Mum," he cleared his throat and put on a smile: Rose knew it was fake, that he was really shaken. "They fixed you right up, though. And we wont be here long enough for them to learn anything."

"But admitting papers, and history-" That was the big issue now.

"All forged. We've done this before, Mum. You don't have to worry about anything but getting well enough to leave." He kissed her cheek before replacing her mask. "I'm gonna go check on Chris. He should be done by now. Would have been done sooner but he wouldn't let the doctors and nurses near him until I was checked over and you were taken care of. So sleep, rest. Let it make you better." The 'it' was left unsaid, but Rose knew what-who-he meant. If only it worked that way.

Then he was out the door, and Rose was left watching a muted telly playing the news of Vitex Heirs' Holiday Horror.

She wasn't sure how long she watched the silent broadcast of the wreckage. It felt like hours.

The captions eventually told her, in French, 2 bodies were found, both dead.

_The pilots, _Rose thought with a pang. Roy and Esteban had been their company pilots for nearly ten years. They never asked questions about her and the twins, or about the odd things that personally happened to the family when London or Cardiff was threatened by aliens.

_They were good men. I have to tell their families. _

She let the tears go unchecked and silent down her cheeks as she watched, almost wishing she didn't speak French well enough to understand.

'The whereabouts of the Vitex heiress and heirs,' the captions read, 'are as yet unknown. No other bodies have been recovered from the wreckage…'

Rose hiccupped-it hurt her chest-and watched in numb, morbid, fascination until the combination of her injuries, medication and emotional trauma blissfully sent her back to sleep.

She dreamed of flowing gold and harmonized singing.

oOo

A person came in hours-days-weeks-later, walking softly but with confidence, so it was the gentle movement of the breathing mask being lifted off that woke Rose.

This time she kept her heartbeat steady, rhythmic, just like she trained herself to do. Calm deep-sleep breathing as she assessed the new variable in her unfamiliar environment.

Rose opened her eyes only when she heard a dull click of a clipboard being taken off her bed- A nurse.

She watched as the nurse checked her heart monitor then made a note on the chart. She closed her eyes again as the nurse changed the I.V. bag.

When the door snicked shut Rose opened her eyes again and stared at the ceiling. The pain had dampened to a throbbing ache that didn't actually go away. It stayed there, under her skin, in her bones; she could almost get used to it.

The ceiling was tiled and she concentrated on the spider-web cracking in one, tracing with her eyes as it curved and turned. It almost seemed to spell out words.

"A hospital, Rose. They're not alien abductors. You can drop your guard," she reassured herself, repeating it a few times in her head for good measure. But she knew her guard wouldn't be dropped. To many years of Torchwood; the training wasn't only skin deep anymore.

The ironic thing was that Rose didn't actually hate hospitals. For a while she was jittery about them- but then who wouldn't be after being trapped with cat-nun-nurses and a psychotic trampoline trying to use you as a puppet?

Nowadays she's indifferent to them at worst, and slightly awed by them at best. She saved lives from alien threats at Torchwood, but these-may she stress _fully human-_physicians and nurses save hundreds on practically a daily basis. They're the defenders of Earth, not her.

So what she had to do next didn't sit well with her.

She had blood taken, the plaster on her inner elbow was a dead giveaway. She couldn't let that blood be further analyzed then it no doubt already had been.

Years of quite research, volunteering blood samples every half-decade or so, hadn't yet isolated the anomaly that stopped her and the twins' ageing.

And while the possibility of the hospital finding anything was remote- Torchwood had been _looking _for anything unusual and hadn't found it- she still couldn't run that risk.

She'd have to destroy her sample. That meant breaking into the lab and locating it.

Rose felt the needle in her right hand and looked over at the heart monitor. First though, it meant getting out of her room.

They just changed the I.V. bag and checked on her, so she'd have a few hours. Two, maybe three.

Would they bring her breakfast? Rose thought of the burn of water going down her throat and knew the answer. No, she's more then likely she'd be on a strictly liquids diet until her throat healed. Or soup.

She could go for a bowl of cream of cheddar… and some tea. She'd kill for some tea.

_Focus Rose! _

She reached behind her and hit the nurse call button. It didn't take long before the same woman from before came in. Now that Rose could really look at her, she noticed she was slightly plump, in her mid thirties maybe 36, red hair and her French was accented enough to tell Rose that it wasn't her native language.

"_Miss LeNonè! It's good to see you awake_," she said, smiling.

"_My_…" Rose trailed off, wondering what her sons were on the paperwork. She covered it with a cough.

"_Oh! I bet you're wondering how your cousins are, aren't you dear_?" The nurse, gave her a reassuring smile and didn't wait for Rose to answer. "_They're right next door. How about I tell them you're awake, hmm?" _The nurse gave Rose's arm a motherly pat and swept out.

Rose laid in her bed and could only stare at the empty space the nurse used to be, her cough turned into a real one. She managed to take a sip of water just as the door opened again.

"_Ah, Jeanne! You're awake!" _Mickey said in French, swanning in like his father used to. Like everything was brilliant. Rose stared at her son, pressed her lips together to keep the laughter in.

Mickey closed the door behind him and laughed at the look on Rose's face. The relief that floated off of him told her that he'd been waiting for her to wake up, and maybe even worried that she wouldn't again.

"Jeanne Lennon, Mickey? Really?" Rose managed to say, though she was trying hard not to laugh.

"LeNonè, actually," Mickey corrected, but his grin, she could see, was cheeky. "We," he gestured between himself and the wall across from Rose's bed and subsequently Chris's room, "are Castor and Pollux Marceau."

Rose shook her head, amused. "Which is which?" She asked, managing to raise her bed to a more sitting position. She winced as it moved her ribs.

Mickey swept his hair out of his eyes. "I'm Castor," his said, his grin turning devious. "Chris filled out you're paperwork. I got to do ours."

Mickey made a tisking sound as he gently sat on the edge of Rose's bed. "He should know better, Mum. So it's his own fault he got a crap name."

"Bet we called him Paul though, growin' up," Rose said, already starting to swing her legs carefully over the side.

"We did- Oi, what you think you're doing?" Mickey was up and in front of her in a flash.

"I need your help, Mickey." Rose used his shoulder to help her stand. Her ribs screamed; she grit her teeth through the pain. The heart monitor cords were stretched tight. "I have to get into the lab," she waited for the dizzy head rush to pass. Her other hand reached out for the I.V. pole. "They got a sample of my blood in there- Maybe Chris's too. We can't risk it."

"I know. But why don't you let me handle it, okay?" He held her arms to keep her steady.

"I need you here, Mick. I have to do this," she took slightly deeper breath, and when it didn't cause her to cough she grinned. "One way or another we have to get out of here. Today." Her hand swept to the telly, now playing an advert for shampoo. "They're going to be looking for us harder soon. Pictures on the news, Mickey."

"The doesn't explain why you have to do it. You should be resting!" He closed his eyes. The bruise on his temple was purple and mottled on his pale skin. Rose lifted a hand to lightly run her fingers over it. His eyes opened on hers, steady and emotion-laced. "You were really hurt, Mum. The safety deployed, but not-" Roses hand slipped to cover his mouth.

"I'm fine rabbit, I have to do this," she softly said, hoping the old nickname and her desperate need would convince him. She let her hand fall to her side.

Mickey looked at her a moment longer then hung his head. "Alright Jeanne, what do I have to do?"

oOo

Rose managed to make it to the loo without getting dizzy, which prompted a victory dance in her head as she slid the I.V. needle out of her hand and put it in the sink.

A tiny piece of tissue stopped the dots of blood and Rose felt almost free again; she unconsciously scratched the places on her chest where the heart monitor's two cords had connected to her.

She'd avoided looking at herself the entire time, afraid of what she'd see, but now she forced herself to look in the mirror. What she saw she half expected, but it still caught her by surprise.

She had a small cut on her cheekbone just under her left eye, bandaged like Mickey's. Her face from jaw to cheekbone was a hazy yellow and green.

_Like that fancy mustard at the Ritz_

She wanted to laugh at that, _needed_ to laugh at it, but it died in her throat. Her hand was ghosting the bruise- her left hand. She hadn't noticed until then, why hadn't she noticed!

Tears rolled down her cheeks for the second time that day as she looked at the mirror image of her bare ring finger.

Without the I.V. pole, her trip back into the room was more careful, precise. One foot in front of the other, hand on the door jam.

Mickey was lounging in her bed flipping channels, her heart monitor attached to him.

"Mickey?" Her voice wavered and hell: _You're stronger then this!_

Her son sat up, concerned. Rose held her hands up to keep him from fully getting up. He was half sitting, already poised to spring up, heart monitor be damned, if she was about to pass out.

"Mum? What is it? Are you alright? Do I have to call a-"

"No! No." She couldn't heart that word, not then. "D'you know where my rings are?"

Mickey let out a long breath, tense muscles relaxing under his scrubs. "Yeah." His hand reached under the navy top, slowly pulling a chain over his head. Rose was frozen by the door as it pulled free. She'd forgotten about that too.

He held it out to her and for a while she could only stare.

"This was in your pocket. They gave it to me when they were changing you into your gown for surgery. Your rings too." Mickey's soft voice broke the moment.

She slowly walked forward, hand out stretched. Her rings hung on a tarnished silver chain, clanking against an nondescript silver key.

Once it was in her hand, her fingers scrambled to get the catch open and remove the rings.

"They shouldn't…" she trailed off as the whole thing fell out of her shaking fingers and onto the bed. A sob escaped her. She shook her head, knowing Mickey was sitting up and about to help her, sooth her again. She didn't need to be soothed, she needed to get the rings away from the key.

"I have to get to the lab," she said. Taking as deep a breath as she felt save doing, she grabbed her engagement and wedding rings and slipped them on. She looked at the key again.

"It's for the other Dad's TARDIS, isn't it?" Rose closed her eyes, biting back the 'That ones not your father' that wanted to come out automatically.

"I have to get to the lab," she repeated. "They'll be checkin' on me in a few hours." She scooped up the key, clutching it in her right hand; away from her rings.

"The wardrobe, there in the corner," Mickey said after a few seconds of silence, pointing to the corner opposite the telly. "The bags we managed to save and could carry. One's yours. Should be clothes in it, if you actually packed it like I told you too for once."

She hadn't, but she let his mock-exasperated tone break the tension. Plus, she wasn't about to tell him she had never packed like he told her too, and the chances were quite good that she never would. Sensible packing wasn't a trait Mickey got from either of his parents.

She turned, walked the few steps to the wardrobe and opened the doors.

She could feel Mickey watching her, looking after her, making sure she wasn't going to break. She remembered a time when she took care of them. When she was a parent and told them what to do.

Now though, now their roles have been reversed. She wasn't very sure how she felt about that.

Her deep red bag sat off to the right, next to a worn green one stamped with Chelsea Football Club- Chris's. She remembered buying that for him when he was 16, thinking at the time 'that should be blue'. On the other side of that was a an overstuffed Armani knockoff- Mickey's. The briefcase with the Lewisham Research Facility hadn't made it.

She had to squat down to pick up her bag, her ribs making it agony to bend.

It was scratched. The faux leather had a ragged line cross the front. Her fingers traced it.

"It was stuck under part of the wall. Took a good tug to get it free," Mickey quietly said. "I looked for the briefcase from the solicitor, it was mostly empty. We never put the papers back in it after we looked though them." Rose closed her eyes in thanks. At least that meant they'd been destroyed. No chance of someone finding and reading them.

Using the wardrobe handle as leverage she stood, and was pleased when she made it back to the loo faster then the trip out had been.

Once the door was closed softly behind her, Rose dropped her bag on the counter and stared at the leather-bound journal that was peaking out from the halfway unzipped top.

She hiccupped as she grabbed it and turned on the tap. She sat on the toilet, journal hugged against her chest, and finally let herself really break down.

"I miss you Doctor," she cried quietly.

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Comments are love, hospital gowns are not.  
I would like some pudding, and I'm actually a Liverpool fan ^-^


	8. Chapter Seven

....my thanking of Jael is becoming a ritual in postings. The end's for you lady, but you've already read it ^-^

Also: _"This is me, speaking French again."_

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**Chapter Seven**

Rose was very aware of seconds turning into minutes and slipping by. But her chest hurt, her head hurt, her heart hurt and she couldn't get the tears to stop, now that she had finally let them out.

Everything had become so messed up. A week ago she would have been making her husband's tea with it's imitation sugar and they'd be getting ready for his birthday. A week ago she didn't have a punctured lung or a hole in her head, Chris didn't have a concussion and a sprained ankle, and Mickey didn't have to take care of them both.

"A week ago I wasn't a single mum," she said through her tears. It was a stupid thing to think: her sons were fully grown, middle-aged even. But they were still her babies.

And she hadn't been taking care of them. Well, that was going to change.

First though, she had to pull herself together. Something that was proving hard to do.

She felt anxious, nervous, hurt, grieved, tired, hungry, scared, calm, upset, lost… so many things. She let the steady rhythm of the tap settle in her mind. A concentration trick the Doctor taught her and the twins when they discovered the empathic ability they shared.

Slowly her break down eased off to silently falling tears. The jumble of emotions like a knotted ball of strings slowly unraveled until they were all separate and bare in her heart and mind.

She felt the sound of the water run through the emotions, taking all but hers away. The tears finally stopped and she opened her eyes.

Anxious, grieved, upset and lost she felt then.

She turned to look at the mirror. "Take care of the blood samples, and that takes care of the anxious feeling," she told her image. "Work on the rest when you have to."

That decided she turned off the tap and began pulling things out of her bag. While she hadn't packed three pairs of extra knickers, two extra shirts and a pair of jeans, she had packed one whole back up outfit. Pyjama's to be more precise. She had planned on sleeping on the flight, and in her experience jeans didn't make comfortable sleep attire.

She felt her lips twitch as she held up the black "Tea Solves Everything" cotton pants. They even had little pink smiling tea cups on them.

The matching shirt was pink with a black kiss-blowing kettle on it. The set had been a gift from the Doctor for her 70th birthday. They were worn in places, the material gone thin. But they were comfortable.

Of course, she hadn't planned on walking around a hospital when she'd packed them.

_Not exactly an outfit for breaking into anywhere._

"I suppose I can borrow something of Chris or Mickey's," she muttered, holding the shirt up to her chest. "Or maybe get some scrubs of my own." She raised one hand to lightly touch the bruise on her jaw. "Not that they'll hide me anyway."

She put the journal and pyjamas back in her bag and opened the door.

"You packed sensibly, didn't you Mick?" She asked, leaning on the doorframe. She was beginning to tire already, which meant she had to do this now, before she passes out again.

"Course I did," he said, attention on a football match on the telly. Rose could hear the announcements, and while they were going to fast for her to understand, she knew Mickey was following it like it was in English.

If only she had the talent for languages he did.

Rose shook her head, reminding herself Chris wasn't any better then she was, and she was better at mechanics then Mickey- who was hopeless when it came to such things. How that happened with the Doctor as his father was another mystery she knew would never be solved.

She steeled herself and said, "I need to borrow something of yours."

Mickey looked away from the game and grinned. "Didn't pack any spare clothes in that bag, did you?"

Rose huffed and walked to the wardrobe again. She patted herself on the back for not shuffling. "I did," she said. Then quieter, "just nothing hospital sneaking appropriate."

"What was that?" His tone was cheeky and Rose decided to ignore him and borrow something whether he said she could or not. She was the mum. It was her right to use her child's things.

Squatting down, she pulled his bag forward, opened it and frowned. "There's no clothes in here," said, still rummaging though. "I thought you packed clothes."

"I did. One whole outfit. But my bag had been tossed clear. It was open. Couldn't find the clothes when we found it. I used it to collect some of Roy and Esteban's things for their families. We didn't trust the system to give them their wings or anything. And that's all the other things we could find."

There was three books, the small camera bag- "It still work?" She asked, inspecting the case. It didn't look like it was in a crash.

"Should yeah, we didn't exactly have time to check it. At least I didn't," Mickey said after a quick glance her way. Then his attention was back on the telly, and Rose went to Chris's bag instead.

At least he had a few shirts, sweat pants and jeans. She wondered why Mickey hadn't just borrowed something of his brothers as she pulled out the dark gray sweat pants.

She considered just wearing her Kissing Kettle top, but a kitchen appliance with painted red lips puckering up at people would attract much more attention then a woman in men's clothing.

She pulled out Chris's white button-up dress shirt; she wasn't going to go around wearing a shirt that said Vitex or his black hole shirt that had the gravitational field equation on it. Just the sight of that one hurt her head.

"Only Chris would pack a posh shirt for a family holiday," Mickey said as Rose used the door again to stand up.

"He's just prepared is all." She grit her teeth through the pain as her torso moved. "I'm going to get changed and find the lab," she said, looking over at her son. "Then I'm going to stop in on Chris. See if he's ready to get out of here-"

"But-"

She held her hand up to stall Mickey's protests. It was time she started being the parent again. "Fine or not-and I _am _fine-we are getting out of here and going back home. Your aunt and uncle must be out of their minds with worry and we can't call them from here, least someone wonders why the patients that look so much like the Vitex heir's are making calls to Tony Tyler, alright?

She didn't stay to hear his response, just walked confidently, and with more apparent ease then she actually felt, back to the loo and set about carefully changing into her borrowed clothes.

It was only her urgency and the small rush of adrenalin that it brought that had her going by then. She knew she needed to rest and let things mend, but she also knew she couldn't. Not yet. Not until they were home and safe.

X

Mickey was acting like a petulant teenager when Rose stole out of her room and down the hall, dressed in Chris's clothes with her hair up in a messy bun that mostly covered the bandage.

He wanted her to stay in bed and get well, and while she conceded the point that yes, she did need rest, it didn't change the fact that the longer they stayed the greater the chances were of someone finding out who they were.

They could have, in all actuality, used their real names. Or rather their real-fake names that is. While to Torchwood they were who they had been for decades, to the general public and Vitex they were an enigma of little background. Mickey and Chris became their own parents, and Rose became her own granddaughter, and one of their daughters. How Torchwood managed all that believably she couldn't even fathom.

'_Humans, Rose. They're all so very _human_. Tell them something then back it up with words and figures on paper and they'll believe you one-hundred percent.' _Rose never did remind the Doctor that he too was human.

It didn't seem to matter that photos of the grandchildren growing up never turned up, or that they were never seen with their parents. Or that they looked identical to their namesakes, who mysteriously vanished when they turned up.

_They really do believe anything. _She thought as she took the lift down to the lobby.

It was only the fact that they didn't want the media around that they used assumed names. And they never want the media around.

Eventually there will be another Sarah Jane in the lot, and then her family would have to go into hiding, cause anyone with half as much curiosity and smarts as Sarah Jane wouldn't just take anything at face value. They'd search and uproot things, find the non-ageing skeletons in their closet.

And that, the press finding out their family secrets, that's what Rose feared most in the universe. Even with Torchwood on their side, the government could take them, separate them. Experiment on them. Rose would be damned if she let the likes of UNIT touch a hair on her sons heads.

The lift dinged, and Rose collected herself before she walked out into the busy lobby like she belonged there.

Her pants were rolled three times, and she was wearing the hospital issued slippers, but the shirt at least looked stylish. She could be a frazzled mum-which she was- or a frazzled intern-which she planned to be, if asked.

The doors to the front entrance stood large and sunny in front of the main desk. Off to the left was a glass wall with the word _'Clinique' _over it. To the right, a corridor that read _'Admission'_.

Rose assumed that meant offices.

The main desk was a circle with a column in the middle; three nurses were there answering phones and making notes. And two doctors. One of whom just set her lab coat over the counter before she sat to help the other with a chart.

Rose strode purposefully forward and slipped the coat off the counter in one fluid move, hardly ruffling the other things beside it. The mass of people coming and going and inquiring about loved ones kept her anonymous as she shrugged into it.

She kept her hand on the smallish lapel to hide the picture on the badge. There was a bold plaque with the floors and what they did there, like she was hoping there would be, on the back side of the column and Rose nicked a file off the desk, pretending to skim it while she looked for the labs.

That they were generally all on the second floor was all she was able to discern before she heard the lady doctor wonder where her coat had gone to.

Rose set the file back down and rushed with professional quickness back to the lifts and hit the button for level 2. She bouncing on the balls of her feet, impatient.

When it arrived she hurried in, hitting the door close button before the number 2.

By the time it stopped, Rose had turned the badge over, just in case, and her head was starting to hurt like mad.

All she wanted was to curl up on her sofa with a cuppa and some reruns of old WestEnders episodes.

She paused a few steps from the closing lift door, almost stunned, and leaned against the wall.

When had she gotten so old?

_Probably when you had kids_ She thought with a shake of her head that made her vision swim momentarily. Once upon a time, her injuries wouldn't have called for crawling home to watch a show that's not nearly as good as its alternate counterpart.

She pushed herself forward at the same time as she pushed the thoughts away. Her sons were her life. Growing old was worth it.

_Only I'm not_, Rose squashed the thought. It wasn't worth thinking about. Not now, of all times.

The hall was mostly empty, the exception being an ageing man pushing a large cart of cleaning supplies and a lab tech coming out of one of the labs. Most of the doors were closed, much to Rose's annoyance, and she didn't want to open each one to check. It would seem off.

She nodded cordially to the man and walked a little faster to take a discreet glance into the lab as he closed the door. She couldn't see anything: It was too dark in the room.

A small shake vibrated her feet; it hardly lasted a second. "Did you feel that?" She asked, in English, before she realized what she was doing.

"_Pardon?" _He asked, but his attention wasn't on her. He was looking down at the floor, brows creased in a frown. Well, that answered her question.

Another tremor, larger this time, saved her from trying to figure what to say in French. This one lasted longer. Though how long, Rose couldn't say. Not a minute, probably not 10 seconds.

Her already shaky legs didn't want to hold her anymore. She braced an arm on the wall beside the door and tried to remain upright. The tech reached out to steady her.

"_Are you alright?" _He asked, finally looking at her. She hopped her hair still covered the bandage.

"_Yes,"_ Rose nodded and it caused her vision to swim again. No. She most certainly wasn't alright.

Then the Earth was being ripped apart. Or at least that's what Rose thought it felt like. Which, for a moment, she thought it actually was. Wouldn't be the first time it tried to happen.

"_Earthquake!" _The tech shouted over the roar. The building rocked and swayed and for a moment it felt like a bumpy TARDIS right, like the zeppelin, moments before it went down.

There was a crash. The man-the caretaker- was trapped under his cart. Bottles of cleanser, bleach and soap hoped around like fish out of water. The mop was pushed at an angle under his side. He cried out and it broke Rose from her stupor. She ran as best as she could to the man using the wall to steady herself. Kicking bottles out of the way she grabbed an edge of the cart, her ribs screaming as she bent and tried to lift it.

The caretaker cried out again. Rose looked back at the lab tech, who'd opened the door and taken refuge in the doorway. "Don't stand there, help me!" She yelled at him, not bothering to try it in French. It hurt her throat, but she didn't have time to worry about that.

The man didn't move. "NOW!" She jerked her head at the cart and the tech finally moved. He swayed with the building as he ran to hear and skidded to a stop on the other end of the cart.

Together they got it off the man and Rose grabbed an arm and dragged him clear. The cart fell back down; they couldn't hear it over the other noise.

The technician lifted the old man easily, looping one arm around his waist, and raising the man's arm to his shoulder.

Rose copied the position, and they went to the nearest door. Glass clattered from shelves, machines danced off of surfaces; the lights began to flicker

"_We stay here can't" _Rose tried to say, knowing the accent was horrible and she probably didn't say what she meant. But the technician nodded as the caretaker slumped completely. She hitched him up higher to compensate the added weight and ignored the renewed pain it brought on.

"_This way," _said the tech, and they braved the room, dodging flying glass, to another door near the opposite corner, next to what looked like a refrigerator. "_In here."_

Rose took more of the caretakers weight, her legs feeling like jelly. The door opened, scattering fallen debris back, and Rose half dragged the older man into the room.

The room was small, no more than a cupboard, with a metal shelving unit full of books, extra scrubs, files, and plastic containers on the far wall.

This Rose learned when one cup bounced off a high shelf and hit her shoulder.

_At least it's not glass_ she had time to think before the door slammed shut, causing them all to jump back farther into the room. Rose's legs trembled.

The lone light fixture held, and Rose cast it's flickering light a weary glance.

Her breathing became laboured, almost wet sounding again. She could feel it-it tickled her chest, making her want to cough. The extra weight tore at her ribs and legs. The building grinding and moving echoed in her already hurting head.

The technician took the caretakers weight from her and she dropped to the ground, no longer able to support even her own weight now that she didn't have to stand.

He looked at her with worry as he laid the unconscious man down.

Rose was too exhausted to notice it. Her mental barriers she'd affected earlier in the loo tore like soaked paper. Her mind flooded with a rush of worry and fear. Fear for her.

The shelf rattled dangerously; the tech stood quickly to hold it up.

_They'll be alright, Rose _She thought firmly as she managed to drag herself over and shield the mans head.

And then, as quickly as it started, it was over; the room plunged into darkness. It couldn't have lasted longer than a minute.

Silence reigned and it was almost deafening. Rose couldn't decide if the ringing in her head was from her surgery or the sudden quiet. She decided it didn't matter which, she just wanted it to go away; it was making her nauseous.

A few seconds later the light came back on. Dimmer, but on.

"Back up generators." The tech paused. "You're English," he said without a trace of a French accent. In fact, Rose thought he sounded a bit Welsh.

He was still holding the shelves up and she managed to turn her head though it's pounding to look at him. He looked almost familiar, but it was probably the lighting.

"So are you," She looked down at the unconscious man again. "So you a doctor? Cause he could use one."

"Aren't you?" Rose winced. Right. The lab coat.

"Gynaecologist," she improvised. Though a tiny part of her wondered why bother?

The technician cautiously lifted his hands away. When the shelves stayed where they were, he kneeled down opposite her and looked the man over.

"He'll be alright," he said a few seconds later. Rose had watched him turn the mans head and feel around the back. His hand came away clean. "Just took a knock to the head. Should wake up before long."

Rose didn't nod-she knew better by then. "Mm," she hummed instead. She let herself slump against the wall.

"What about you? Are you alright?" She watched him stand and take a step towards her.

She moved a specimen cup from behind the small of her back. "Are you a doctor?" She asked, instead of answering.

"Nah, I'm just a lab rat." He looked like he wanted to go on- and Rose was a little curious as to how a Welsh lab technician found his way to work in a Swiss hospital- but he only asked again if she was alright.

"Yeah, I'm fine. We should get out of here. I…" She said, then gave a mental sigh. Best to use some truth. "I have family in here. I have to make sure they're okay."

He stared at her for a second before he nodded and headed to the door.

Twisting the handle, he pushed. Nothing. He pushed harder. The door still didn't budge.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked. She'd closed her eyes to concentrate on her breathing. Taking care to not make them too deep.

"The door. It's jammed." There was a loud thud just as her eyes popped open.

The tech tried kicking the door again and Rose used the wall to heave herself up and walk over.

"Never trust a bloke to do a simple task," she muttered to herself, thinking of the time Chris couldn't get the lid off the jam. Rose had managed it first try. His defence was he was just getting over the flu.

She turned the handle and pushed. Nothing happened. Frowning she used both hands and tried again.

"It's jammed," she stated. She thought about trying to kick it herself, but she knew a futile move when confronted with one. Had her ribs not been broken, she still might have tried. She glared at the door.

"That's what I told you," the now amused looking tech said. Rose turned her glare onto him and watched with satisfaction as he took a small step back.

She didn't know it was because her eyes swirled with gold. That he had been scared for a reason he didn't understand when he saw the golden glow.

She blinked and it was gone. The tech shook his head, unbelieving of what he just saw; dismissing it as a product of the trauma, and looked around at the scattered mess.

"I'm stuck in a cupboard," she said, more to herself then her either of trapped companions, and slid slowly down the door. Her legs stretched out in front of her, slipper-clad toes just brushing the caretakers leg. She could imagine she saw the aching muscles twitching.

"I'm Gary, by the way. Since we might be in here a while," the tech said, going over to the caretaker. He gathered some of the scrubs and put them under the man's head.

Rose closed her eyes again with a gutsy sigh. "I'm trapped in a cupboard with Gary."

_Well, isn't this fantastic?_

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_Reviews are love, and so is the color red _


	9. Chapter Eight

Thank you, Jael- the noodles are hers ^.^

Sorry it's late. Family has been in town and that means my very own rendition of Hell, colorfully executed with exquisite precision. (Hmm, that was poetic...) I'm afraid Jack may have come off a bit OOC, what with his Mother-Henning the Doctor... but sometimes you have to give the Time Lord a kick in the rump (or get him to eat old noodles...)

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**Chapter Eight  
Interlude: Doctor and Jack**

"Have you slept?" The Doctor looked up, sonic screwdriver clamped between his teeth. Jack crossed his arms. "I mean it, Doc. It's been-near as I can tell in here- five days since he died and you've hardly said a word. And I know the only thing you've eaten is a handful of that stale cereal from the 60's-"

"Hmw ouo o hyt?" The Doctor mumbled through the screwdriver.

Jack rolled his eyes. He squatted down next to the alien and pulled the device out.

"One more time?" He asked, absently wiping it off on his pant leg.

"I said: How'd you know that?"

"I practically had to force-feed it to you." The Doctor had the grace to look a trifle sheepish. But not for long.

"Your hands were dirty!" Jack, by that point, was no longer effected by the Doctors rapid mood swings, so when sheepish turned to indignant, he just kept eye contact. He was, however, mildly impressed. Hardly a second passed between the moods.

"Oh fine. If you must know," the Doctor said, climbing out of under the grating, "I slept just last night… that is, yesterday…" He trailed off and looked at the monitor, checking the date. "Yes, last night."

"Yeah? For how long?"

"You know, with your arms crossed like that you remind me-"

"Changing the subject, Doctor." Jack dropped his arms, nonetheless. He wasn't sure he wanted to know who it reminded the Doctor of.

The Doctor sighed and dropped into the chair. "Half hour, maybe," he rubbed the back of his neck.

Jack shifted his weight and narrowed his eyes. "That's not a lot, Doc."

"Don't need as much sleep as you humans." He paused and looked up at the Captain, suddenly serious. "It was unsettling, Jack. I dreamed. I don't dream. Hardly ever." His eyes left the other mans and trained onto the pulsing column. "Rose was in it. I was…"

Jack never saw the Doctor at a loss of words. He leaned next to the monitor and tried to get eye contact back.

"You were what?" He prompted. He was starting to feel like that talk show host that was always trying to 'help' people with coming to grips with their addictions and problems. He never, however, expected the alien in front of him to be the person he helped.

Jack decided it was past time to get out of the TARDIS for a while. Mucking about in history and getting chased by angry villagers will put the spark back in the Doctor, sure enough.

"You were what?" He asked again.

In a move yet unlike him, the Doctor sighed again. "I was the old me. The one you met." He did look at Jack then. "I-he-us, pick a pro-noun, was with Rose. Walking along Woman Wept-"

Jack smiled then, he remember that planet.

"-Then she ran off, when her son-her son, Jack!- showed up, calling her. His name was Mickey."

Jack suddenly felt like sitting. He wanted to go poke Emperor Nero with his own fiddle bow.

"Why would you dream of her having a son named after Mickey-The-Idiot?" He asked instead. The name had long since been proven incorrect, but it was just one of those nicknames that stuck and was now used almost fondly.

And maybe the Doctor needed to say all this. Bottled up emotions, he knew, weren't healthy.

"I wouldn't, that's the thing. Although I suppose I could. I mean, I was just wondering the other day if she had a family, wasn't I?" He turned to look at his companion. "But Jack, she said she'd last seen me- that me- over sixty years ago. But she still looked the same as she did that day on the beach." His eyes bore into the other man. "I wouldn't dream of her being immortal, Jack. You know how it is. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Jack expression turned inward, remembering all the years he's built up. "I know you wouldn't," he said, simply, firmly.

But the question remained: Was it actually a dream, or something else?

The Doctor suddenly clapping his hands startled Jack. "Right. Where to? I think I got that problem fixed-"

"I didn't know there was a problem," he said, automatically dropping the dream subject.

"Ah. Well, see. It happened when I was working on the stabilizers…"

Jack shook his head fondly and picked Rome, 20th December AD 65. Maybe he could get the Doctor to really poke Nero. It'd do him some good.

oOo

"Jack, you can't go out there dressed like that. You're-"

"Likely to start a riot. I know, Doc. But there's always lots of body-touching in riots," Jack said, grinning as he opened the door.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat off the seat. "Don't start!" He said, walking over to where the captain was paused in the doorway.

Jack let out a small laugh. "I don't think I'll have problems blending in," he said over his shoulder.

The Doctor frowned a moment, before finally saying, "We're not in ancient Rome, are we?"

"No," said Jack, with a smile.

"Not even in Rome?"

"No."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "We're not in London again, are we?"

"No," Jack said with a laugh, "this isn't London."

"It's not Cardiff, is it?" The Doctor's voice started to sound almost whiny. "We were just in Cardiff."

"That was almost 3 months ago, and no." Jack turned back to look outside and laughed again. "It's not Cardiff. I'll give you a hint. What country has those long horns?"

"Now really, Jack. This is not the time for that!"

Jack rolled his eyes, fully aware the Doctor couldn't see him. He tossed another smile over his shoulder. "Why go looking for long horned beasties when I have you, Doc?"

It was the Doctors turn to roll his eyes, and he mumbled something along the lines of "How Ianto puts up with you…" Before he took the last few steps and pushed past the amused captain.

"Mountains. Why are there mountains?"

"You know, you asked the same thing about a door once." Jack stepped back into the TARDIS and went over to the monitor; not that he could read anything it said. "Maybe you should check and see where and when we are?" He tilted his head to one side and decided that symbol-word?-symbol right _there_ looked like a pinwheel in a box… Or a woman's-

"Push over, I need to see the monitor," the Doctor said, raising an eyebrow at the concentrating captain.

Jack broke his gaze and grinned, raising his hands and backing away.

He watched as the Doctor squinted, moved closer to the monitor, then remembered his glasses and slipped them on. Jack stifled a laugh.

"Getting old, Doc?" He said, trying not to grin to widely. The Doctor looked up from the monitor and narrowed his eyes.

"And how old are you, Captain?" He turned back to the readings before Jack could respond. "Switzerland." He said, and frowned. "Why are we in Switzerland?"

Jack came to stand behind the shorter man and looked over his shoulder. He still couldn't read anything, but he liked to pretend he could.

"When are we in Switzerland?" He countered. The Doctor turned his head slightly and grinned.

"Good question!" But he made no move to find out.

"Well?" Jack said, getting impatient.

"What? You don't want to go out there and find out for yourself?"

"I don't think the mountains will be very forthcoming with a time and date."

"Ah." The Doctor turned back to the monitor and read a for a few more seconds. "2062," he said finally. "March, I believe. Chilly, but warming up! Perfect! We can have a picnic!"

"A picnic, Doc?" Jack took a step back and started at the alien with a raised eyebrow. "Since when do you do picnics?"

"Well, we have to eat, and, according to this," he pointed at a pulsing reading on the screen, "something brought us here. Might as well eat while we wait for it to show up! Plus I could use a cuppa and we still have that leftover Qing Dynasty food. It wont keep forever, you know."

Jack decided to humor his friend- it's what you do to crazy people, he remembered, and the Doctor was acting not very like himself lately. Best to just go with it. So Jack smiled, nodded, and offered to pack up the food.

How long ago were they in ancient China? Three weeks? Was it still good? Jack wondered as he headed to the kitchen. And on the edge of his mind, waiting to get thought about, was the Doctors dream of Rose on Women Wept.

Jack kept it firmly there and tried to remember if they had any hollandaise sauce. Different cuisine, but if the noodles were as old as he suspected they were, the hollandaise could be the difference between edible and compost.

Jack walked back into the console room not long later inspecting several pieces of Tupperware containing the dubious Chinese. He placed two of them down on the captains chair-the best looking ones-and lifted the lid on the third.

"Well, I think the noodles and chicken are fine, but the rice definitely isn't..." He said, grimacing at the smell and slapping the lid back on.

The Doctor hummed something, and Jack rolled his eyes.

He picked up the noodle's and waved it enticingly.

"Noodles?" He asked, wishing they did have hollandaise for it; the Doctor loved hollandaise.

"Vortex energy?"

Jack paused, sure he must have misheard. He took the remaining steps to his alien friend. "No...noodles," he repeated, and waved the container in front of the screen.

The Doctor straightened up, took his glasses off and looked at him as if he had dribbled on the front of his shirt. "What?"

"What?" Jack echoed. He was starting to get the feeling that he missed something. Something big.

"Vortex energy." The Doctor said again, slowly, like he was talking to a child and pointed at the screen.

Jack pretended he could understand the Gallifreyan and hummed, nodding.

"It's what brought us here. Or rather, the TARDIS followed an energy signature pattern that was exactly the same as hers but wasn't her."

"So can you follow it?" Jack asked, suddenly remember he was still holding old noodles. He clicked the lid back on and set it on top of the other ones.

"Well that's the thing, its gone...no trace left. Nothing. Not even a smidge." The Doctor trailed off and turned back to the screen, as if staring at it longer would bring answers.

Jack looked between the monitor and alien, then down at the food. "Well. I'll put these back in the fridge and we can go out there and see if we find anything."

"We won't find anything, Jack. It's gone."

"Humor me. You need to get out of the TARDIS for a while. You're getting pasty. You need some sun."

The Doctor let out a small huff and Jack smiled. "I'm not pasty. I'm bookishly pale."

"You're pasty, and we're going out there and you're going to chase a goat, if I have to get one to chase you first."

The Doctor finally turned from the screen, bemused expression dancing across his face.

"In fact," Jack continued, "We're having that picnic, and you'll eat these noodles that you wanted oh so badly when we passed that shop." With that he grabbed his coat from over the railing and slipped it on.

"You can bring the food," he said over his shoulder as he walked to the doors.

The Doctor stood in amused shock for a second before grabbing the containers and meeting his friend at the doors.

"You better be nicer to me, Captain." He smiled. "Or I'll leave you on Celenius VI. The whole planet has taken a vow of celibacy."

As the doors closed on the two bantering friends, the sound of a new trace echoed unheard in the empty TARDIS; the Gallifreyan symbols on the screen momentarily replaced by the words Bad Wolf.

* * *

Reviews are love, Ancient Chinese noodles are not


	10. Chapter Nine

Long time coming, no? I'm a full time college student (all set to graduate next May) with a might-as-well-be fiancée to boot. Time, she is a fickle thing. But then, the doctor knows all about that huh? No promises on the next one, but this chapter have been sitting on my flash drive for months. Enjoy and see disclaimers from previous chapters ^-^

Not beta'd because of time and other commitments and my darling beta has been as incognito on the net has I have.

I humbly apologize for the utter crap this chapter probably is.

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"Mum went to the lab," Mickey said without preamble the second Chris came through the door. The sight of his brother enough to break the stunned shock the 'quack left him in. He kicked off the blanket tangled around his feet and pulled off the heart monitor.

The machine made a feeble attempt to flat-line, it's cracked screen looking up at them from the floor. Chris bent and flipped it off.

"I tried to stop her, but you know Mum. She argued and made _sense _and next thing I know I'm hooking myself up to this and she's changing her clothes."

Chris just shook his head and grit his teeth. "Let's go. She's shouldn't be out of bed, and she's probably trying to help someone…"

"I know," Mickey snapped, guilty for letting her do what she wanted. He hopped out of bed and kicked the water pitcher and cups away, took a deep breath. "Bags? Don't think we'll be back here." He headed to the wardrobe, not waiting for an answer. He had to push a chair away, but at least the wardrobe itself stayed standing.

He wondered if it was bolted to the floor.

"Mum's bag's in the loo," he said over his shoulder. He frowned when he turned back and watched his brother heavily favor his right ankle. "Find crutches," he added quietly to himself.

He grabbed the two bags and stood, feeling only slightly dizzy. Even without a concussion, he still managed a pretty good bump to his head.

oOo

"Did your mobile make it?" Mickey asked. In the confusion and hustle of after the earthquake, the twins were hardly spared a glace as medical personnel scrambled double time to check on the more critical patients.

Mickey figured it would be a while until the LeNonè-Marceau party of three were found to be missing. His mum had been declared stable and healing almost to rapidly, and Chris was only suffering a minor concussion, a sprained ankle and exhaustion. There were far more worst-off patients to be seen to first. He gave them at least half an hour, forty-five minutes maybe, to find their errant mother, help her out of whatever jam she probably got herself into, and be shot of the place.

Chris let out a soft curse and Mickey tried not to laugh at the way his brother was hobbling up the stairs. Chris had insisted on carrying his own bag as well as their mum's even though Mickey had the two good ankles.

"Yeah, 's in my bag. Why?" Chris grit his teeth and Mickey finally had enough; it wasn't funny if his brother really was in pain. He dropped his bag and grabbed Chris's sleeve.

"Then give me your bag." He held up a hand to forestall the argument he knew was coming. "You have one bad ankle, carrying two bags makes it hard for you to hold the railing. If you fall, I'm going to have to repack the things that fell out of your bag with it's broken zipper. I might get a paper cut." He held out his hand.

"Good to know you have your priorities straight," Chris said dryly, though his lips twitched just slightly. Mickey continued to stare at him. "Oh all right, you can carry Mums." Mickey grinned victoriously.

"And give me your phone, I need to call Uncle Tony. Don't know why I didn't think to ask for it sooner…" he trailed off as he took the scarred red bag. Chris dug out his small silver phone and fought with the battered zipper.

Mickey tried not to laugh again as the phone searched for a signal.

oOo

"I don't think these shelves can hold your weight for much longer," Gary said, holding the shelves like one would hold a ladder for a friend. "Not that you're fat, or anything! I mean, just that they've already been through an earthquake and any more extra wei-not that you _have_ extra-" He broke off with a sigh and Rose looked down at him, faint amusement mixed with annoyance.

"This could be a way out of here," she said in her most patient voice, reminding herself that Gary was a man, and foot-in-mouth for a man was like second gear on a car. Unavoidable when with them an extended amount of time.

She took a quick look at the figure laid out against the wall.

The caretaker was still unconscious, and if he stayed that way for much longer, Rose was going to have to wake him herself. Somehow.

She's had enough concussions to know you shouldn't sleep.

Rose resisted the impulse to touch the still covered bandage on her head. Oh yes, she knew all about head wounds; however she expected hers was a special case this time. Anesthesia canceled out the do-not-sleep-long rule.

Once she saw the steady rise and fall of the mans chest, she went back to examining the air vent

It was small alright, and she probably wouldn't fit through it- she had figured that much out while still sitting on the ground looking up at it. But she had to do _something _and examining a futile way out was all she could think of.

_Chris and Mickey will find us soon_ she assured herself for the hundredth time. She was even starting to believe it.

"So the family you have here? Are they doctors too? Or patients?" Gary asked. He didn't sound prying, exactly. More like bored and making conversation, but still trying to figure her out.

She gave him points for subtlety, and told him the story Mickey concocted.

"My cousins. They're patients. A boarding accident, scrapes and bruises; sprained ankle."

"Boarding, in March? The streets are still icy…" Gary trailed off and nodded. "Hence the accident, eh?"

"Yeah," Rose said, turning back to the vent. It really was futile. No way of knowing where it went, and even if she could possibly squeeze through, her injuries wouldn't let her get more then a foot in. It took all her effort not to pant from the pain as it was, and she was only leaning over the slightest bit to reach the vent. She steadfastly refused to acknowledge the fact that she was also a bit hippy still after having two kids. Decades to work off the weight but the hips stayed.

That, Rose decided, was life. She felt sweat prick the back of her neck and tried to think cooling thoughts.

The room was becoming stuffy, in the way that only small rooms, even in winter, could. It wasn't helping her breathing any.

Rose gave up on the vent after a few more seconds of labored breathing and started to carefully make her way off the shelves. Two steps down, however, a voice stopped her. It wasn't one she recognized, and even as she was looking down to see if it was the caretaker finally awake, she realized the voice was coming through from the vent.

"I am sure they are here," the voice was gruff, more mechanical then human and Rose felt a shiver go down her spine.

"Did you say something?" Gary asked, frowning up at her. Rose shushed him and moved back up to press her ear to the vent, wincing when her ribs touched the top-most shelf.

"Three were brought in with injuries consistent with the trace's timeline. One is her." There was a pause and Rose could almost picture the being waiting for the response in it's head.

Beings that sounded like that one hardly ever used Earth technology to communicate.

The question now being what, exactly, was it. And why did she get the strong feeling it was her it wanted?

"Because it's always you, isn't it? Jeopardy friendly, Rose, remember?" She muttered to herself.

"Yes, sir. There was yet another trace of energy not long ago. I will have them soon." The voice started to grow fainter, moving away. Rose processed what she heard.

"Right," she said, climbing down. "We have to get out of here."

"Thought we already established that we're stuck," Gary asked, moving aside for her to step down.

"Oh, we are," she said with a small smile. She'd been stuck in more places then she'd like to count in her long life, although this one did pose a more serious problem. She was injured, had an unconscious man to look after, and she was pretty sure they were stuck cause that refrigerator had fallen in front of the door. But the fact that something she'd bet was alien was after her made it more normal. And normal situations always had a way of working themselves out. Somehow.

"And how do propose we get out then?"

Rose refused to look at her companion, knowing what she'd see: Arms crossed, eyebrow raised, leaning on the wall. Typical male disbelieving posture.

Instead she frowned at the door. How indeed? She didn't have anything sonic on her person- in her luggage either. The Doctors sonic screwdriver was still sitting in their nightstand, unused now for years. She never thought to have the Doctor make her one of her own. He always had his, and they were always together.

Never mind the fact that fifty-plus years and she still couldn't figure out half the settings on it. So resonating some concrete was out.

Her eyes tracked to one side of the door and she bit her lip. A screwdriver, a normal one, for leverage.

She turned to look at what had been on the shelves and concluded it was all either plastic or material. She kicked a specimen cup out of the way and herd the small muted of it hitting the caretaker.

Rose paused mid step, her body protesting. A smile appeared on her lips as she altered her course and headed to the fallen man.

She crouched down as best she could and examined his tool belt. An empty place where a hammer had fallen out, a measuring tape still clipped in it's pouch, and a longer, closed pouch in the front.

"What are you doing?" Gary asked. Rose opened the pouch and pulled out her query.

With a grin she turned her head and held the screwdriver aloft. "Getting us out of here." It wasn't until after Gary insisted he work on the hinges and she heard him swear in French when the screwdriver nicked him in the knuckles that she realized the voice had spoken English. But what that meant, she didn't know.

oOo

"Are you sure this is the right floor?" Mickey asked, holding the phone towards the ceiling and squinting in the emergency lighting.

"List said level two, this is level two," Chris gestured to the corridor in general as Mickey gave up on trying to get a good signal.

"Yeah, but how do we know this is where they keep the samples?" Mickey slipped the phone in his bag and tried opening a door. It was locked.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Mum would have checked here first off anyway, so she should still be here, even if the do keep the samples somewhere else." He checked the door opposite and found it also locked. Cupping his hand against the glass, he tried to peer through the small window.

"_Excusez-moi? Docteur?" _His brothers voice pulled his attention away from the darkened room and he turned to find Mickey strolling up to a doctor that was just rounding the corner._ "J'ai été commandé vérifier les dommages dans les laboratoires, mais mes clefs semblent avoir été mal placées. Pourriez-vous être un cheri et prêtez-moi vôtre pour un instant?" _He finished with a sweet smile and a sheepish shrug.

Not for the first time, Chris wished he had his brothers gift for languages. He caught maybe five words total of what was said, the rest sounding like gibberish. Something about a lab and damages and Chris decided to work on his language skills after all this was over.

He tuned out the rapid-fire French of the doctors response and concentrated on the voice instead.

There was something off about it. Something making it sound like the rumble of machinery almost, just under the pleasant French lilt.

"Didn't have his keys on him," Mickey said, striding back down the hall. Chris furrowed his brow at the retreating figure. Mickey glanced back. "You notice it too?"

Chris turned his gaze to his brother. "The voice?"

"No, his outfit. Orange shirt with green suede shoes and a checkered tie? Looked like a skinny pumpkin. What about his voice?"

"You didn't notice the way it sounded? Like a-"

An echoing bang cut Chris off. "Chris! Mickey!" The voice was more faint then the bang, but both twins heads snapped around to find where the familiar voice was coming from.

"Mum! Where are you?" Chris yelled, and shushed his brother before Mickey could open his mouth to ask again.

"Over here!" The shout was followed by another bang, and Mickey took off around the corner the doctor had come from, Chris following as fast as his ankle allowed.

"Mum!"

"The vent, Mick! We're stuck."

Chris rounded the corner in time to see Mickey frowning up at an air vent high in the wall. "You're stuck in an air vent? What you doing in there? You know you shouldn't be in a place like that with your ribs!"

There was an indignant huff and some mumbling, like she was talking to someone else with her.

"The room behind it, Mickey. There's something blockin' the door."

"What did you mean, 'we'?" Chris asked, narrowing his eyes at the vent.

"Er, hello!" A second voice piped up. A very male voice. Chris's eyes narrowed more.

"And who are you?" Mickey asked, mirroring his brothers frown.

"I'm-" the voice cut off and was replaces by their mothers.

"Introductions can wait, don't you think? Until we're, I don't know, _not _trapped in a cupboard?"

"But we love talking to air vents during a natural disaster." Mickey said, frown giving way to an over the top innocent smile.

"Room behind you with a blocked door?" Chris asked.

A sigh, then, "yeah. And hurry, will you? There's an unconscious man in here, and he needs to be checked over."

"Another man in there? Mum!" Mickey put a hand over his chest in mock scandal.

"Shut it, Mick, and get us out!"

Mickey snickered and turned to follow the corner and wall to the right room, Chris limping behind.

oOo

"Mum?" Gary asked when Rose started her decent down the shelves again. She was beginning to think people spend to much money on exercise equipment when all you needed was a sturdy set of shelves.

She waved airily and shrugged. "Sons, cousins… What's the real difference?"

"Besides a few DNA points? The fact that you don't look old enough to have sons old enough to drive, let alone ones that sound like grown men?"

Rose kept silent, not knowing what to say. Gary didn't seem to notice as he continued.

"I've never seen you here before. And I know just about all the doctors in residency." He reached forward and unclipped the I.D. badge, turning it to see the photo. "Amelia Girard. Looks nothing like you, unless you've very recently undergone a change in skin pigmentation and bleached your black hair blonde." He handed the badge back and crossed his arms. "Who are you? Really?"

_Do you know like we were saying, about the Earth revolving? _Rose shook off the memory and although she wondered how he'd take it if she gave that speech, she tried to change the subject instead. She couldn't think of a plausible lie, and anyway the moment Gary got a look at Chris and Mickey he wouldn't believe anything she'd thought of anyway.

"I think that poor mans waking up."

"No he's not," Gary said, still staring at her.

Rose sighed, huffing a strand of fallen bangs out of her eyes. "Fine, I'm really an immortal human thanks to a very intelligent phone box. At least, that's what I think it is, haven't been able to prove it yet. So I keep on living, year by year. Just call me the Energizer Bunny." She kicked the screwdriver from where it'd fallen after having thrown it at the vent and watched as it spun and struck the wall next to the door. "Oh, and my sons are the same, only theirs is a hand-me-down genetics, not a straight dose. But we don't know how different that makes it. And to top it all off, I'm not even from this universe."

Gary frowned. "What's an Energizer Bunny?" He shook his head. "Alright, don't tell me who you are. But don't have me on either. If you really don't want to talk about-"

"Here's a refrigerator- yes I'm sure that's what it is! I hardly think a vending machine would have a blue cross on the side, Mickey."

Rose hurried to the door and put her hand on it, "Chris, argue later please."

"Yes mum," came the reply, followed by a loud scrapping and finally the door was pulled open.

Rose took a second to close her eyes in relief before they snapped open again and narrowed in on Chris.

"Christian George, you had better be using crutches."

Chris's guilty shifting told her that finding some would be their order of business, before they even thought of getting out of the hospital.


End file.
